Wanting to Help
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Written for the NFA Witness Protection challenge. Tim centered. Deals with domestic abuse. Sort of AU. Already complete. Will try to post one chapter per day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Written for the NFA Witness Protection challenge. The idea was to explain Tim's history by putting him in the Witness Protection program for whatever reason. The only requirement was that Tim's name had to originally be Toby McGregor. This does deal with domestic abuse, but it's not graphic.

**Disclaimer:** I do not now, nor have I ever owned NCIS. Too bad, ain't it?

* * *

**Wanting to Help**  
by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1: This Is Not Life**

Toby wasn't sure when he first realized that not everyone lived like he had. He still remembered the first time he'd been in the room when Daddy had hit Momma. He had been young. Very young. He was pretty sure it had been his birthday. At least, there had been a cake with some candles on it. The rest of the day was vague. The only thing that was clear was Momma screaming and the sound of breaking glass. After that, there was the blood. He didn't know it was blood at the time, but he associated its appearance with Momma's pain and Momma's fear. That was what the blood meant.

Somehow, he knew it was wrong when Daddy shouted that it was all Momma's fault. He knew it because Momma loved him. Daddy didn't. Daddy never had. Not ever. He knew that Momma had tried to get away once and that it hadn't worked, that she had nearly lost Toby to Daddy because Daddy threatened to kill Toby if she tried to leave again.

All that was nothing to the first time Toby himself had been on the receiving end of Daddy's wrath. He was five.

"Daddy?" Toby asked quietly. Daddy had seemed to be in a good mood that day. No shouting. Normally, he would stay up in his room and listen to the rare silence and pretend that life was better, like the smiling people he saw on the street, but this time...

"What." It wasn't really a question, but he wasn't shouting yet.

"I...I went to th' school t'day," Toby said softly, trying to keep the quiet going.

"You what?" The dangerous edge came into his voice. Momma sat up, but froze as Daddy did the same.

"I went to th'school t'day. C-C-Could I go there? Every day?"

"You went to school?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Who said you could leave the house?" The voice was getting louder and more dangerous. "Did you?" He rounded on Momma.

"N-No, Daddy!" Toby said, frantically. "I jus', I jus' went by myself. I jus' wanna see what it's like. Please."

Rage properly focused, Daddy looked at Toby. "You went outside without permission?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Do you know what happens when you disobey me?" Daddy stood and towered over Toby. He looked up and he could see the danger in his eyes, the hatred and loathing. Toby began to cower.

"N-No, Daddy. Please, no."

It didn't matter that Toby barely topped three feet. It didn't matter that he was scrawny. It didn't matter that earlier that day Daddy had been complaining about having him under foot all the time. All that mattered was the perceived defiance.

All that mattered to Toby was the pain when he hit the floor. He forgot about school. He forgot about everything except for the fact that he hurt. He lay at Daddy's feet for a long time. Momma didn't dare move. She didn't even scream when Daddy finally walked over to her and casually slapped her across the face.

"That's for not watching him more closely."

The slap broke the mental bonds that kept Momma from moving and she ran over to Toby, picked him up and carried him up the stairs.

That was when, as she cleaned up the blood and kissed the bruises, she told him the rules.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Momma was expecting again, neither she nor Toby were happy about it...but Daddy was. Toby couldn't figure out why. Daddy didn't love him. Daddy didn't love Momma. Why did he want someone else to hate? When Sally was born, Momma was sad for a long time. After a few months of this strange lingering sadness, Toby went into her room. He picked up Sally from her bassinet and took her into his room. When Sally started to cry, he shushed her. He made her laugh. When she laughed, Toby felt something inside. He _knew_ that was how life should be. Laughing. He should be able to smile and laugh like Sally. Momma shouldn't be crying and screaming. Daddy shouldn't hit. No one told him. Not even Momma ever said that Daddy shouldn't hit. Obviously, he shouldn't, but now, Toby knew that _no one_ should hit. Hitting was bad. What Daddy did was bad. That made Daddy a bad man. After that, it was easier to live in the house. Daddy was a bad man. That meant that somewhere there were good men, that not everyone was like Daddy. If there was bad, there had to be good...somewhere.

"We'll find 'em, Sally. You an' me an' Momma. We'll find 'em."

"Toby! What are you doing?" Momma asked. She looked afraid, but she was out of bed. It had been a long time.

"I was makin' Sally laugh." Toby made another face at Sally and she gurgled happily. "Momma?"

"What, Toby?" Momma sounded so sad that Toby almost didn't ask.

"Are we bad?"

"No, Toby. We're not."

"But Daddy is."

She didn't answer.

"We should be happy, Momma," Toby said, looking at Sally. "Like Sally is happy now."

"Yes, we should, Toby...but that won't happen for awhile."

"Can we make sure that Sally stays happy?" he asked.

"I don't know, Toby."

"Please, Momma. I'll let Daddy hit me more instead of her. I wanna let Sally be happy."

Momma's eyes filled with tears and she pulled Toby close to her and kissed him, leaving tears on his cheeks.

"Oh, Toby. You are such a beautiful boy. We'll try to save Sally. You and me together. We'll do that."

"How, Momma?"

"We'll try to make it so that he doesn't hear her. If she cries, you and I will do our best to hide the sound. We'll teach her how to hide and we'll make sure that Daddy doesn't hit her."

Toby nodded solemnly. Daddy wouldn't make Sally sad. He wiped Momma's tears and kissed Sally again.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Toby never did grow very much. He figured that his body was afraid to grow. He didn't want to let Daddy see him. When Daddy was drunk, it was worse and Toby would hide in the closet for hours. Momma had secretly taught him how to read and write. There weren't very many books in the house, but he would pull the newspaper from the garbage can and read it when Daddy left. He made up stories and told them to Sally. They were simple stories about two kids and their mother who were happy. They seemed as fantastical to him as witches and warlocks seemed to other children.

One day, he was allowed to go outside. Daddy kept Momma and Sally there. He would have to come back, but he reveled in his brief moments of freedom. The sun was shining brightly and he ran all the way down the block to the cheerful playground. It was empty. Normal kids were in school, but he slid down the slide, swung on the swings, played on every piece of equipment there, and he did it all in about ten minutes. He tried to imagine Momma watching him and Sally playing in the sandbox. At only a year, she was too young to play on the bigger toys. It would have been easy for Toby to feel sad, but he had learned how to take a little bit of enjoyment. He would tell Sally all about the playground that night when Daddy started shouting again. He would make her smile.

It was Sally that saved Toby. He was so determined to keep her happy that he himself had to remember what being happy felt like. They fed each other's need for happiness. His time was almost up, and Toby knew he'd be in trouble if he was late getting back. He jumped off the merry-go-round and began to run back up the block.

"Hey!"

Toby froze at the male voice and looked back over his shoulder. There was a man there. He wasn't Daddy...but Toby didn't talk to anyone outside of his family.

"You didn't play for very long."

"Can't. Gotta go." He turned to run again.

"Wait!"

Toby froze again and waited for the blow. It didn't come. He looked in amazement at the man who didn't hit him.

"That sweater is much too thin. It won't keep the cold out."

Toby looked down at himself and back up at the man. What did he mean? "I don' got any other clothes."

"None?"

Toby shook his head.

"Wait here."

"I gotta go!" Toby pled.

"One minute. That's it." The man walked over to a car and opened the trunk. From it he pulled a sweater with the letters KSU on the front. It was much too big for Toby. "Here. You can have this."

"Why?"

"You need it."

"No, I don't," Toby said. He'd never received a real birthday present in his life. Momma tried to do something nice for him, but generally speaking, he was left marking off his birthdays and making the same wish for happiness that he did every year.

"Yes, you do. Besides, I want to give it to you."

"Why?" Toby asked.

The man looked at him sadly. "It's a present."

"You're givin' me a present?"

"Yes."

Toby reached out and took the sweater. He looked at it and then up at the man again.

"Really?"

"Yes."

An ache formed in Toby's chest. Why couldn't this man be his father? He began to cry and then he turned around, the sweater clutched tightly in his arms, and ran away. He heard the man shout for him to come back, but he didn't stop. He ran and ran until he got home. He shoved the sweater up his shirt so that Daddy wouldn't see it. If he was sober, he might, but he was never sober on the days he let Toby outside.

Toby ran inside and up the stairs to his bedroom. He held the sweater and began to cry as he had never cried before, not even on the days when Daddy hit him. Momma came into the room to tell him that dinner was ready, but Toby couldn't go down. He couldn't see Daddy and know that someone else could have been his father. Someone who was nice and gave presents. Someone who didn't hit.

When Sally came toddling into the room, he was still crying. She clambered up onto his bed. She smiled a gape-toothed smile at him.

"Toby," she said. "Toby cwying? Toby sad?"

Toby sat up, still holding the sweater. He set it aside and hugged Sally.

"Oh, Sally. Some day, we'll be happy. All the time."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

At the first sound of screaming, Toby grabbed Sally and ran up the stairs. Sally was already crying, but he put his hand over her mouth and rocked her back and forth. She held onto him tightly. It sounded bad this time. It sounded really bad. A bottle broke. He was probably high. It was that time. Sally began to sob. Toby was afraid that they would hear and he picked her up again, pulling her into the closet.

"Shh...shh...quiet, Sally. We need to be real quiet. Quiet as mice, right?"

"'m scawed, Toby," Sally whimpered. She was only three and didn't understand why they had to hide. Why Momma was always screaming. Why Daddy was always so mad. Toby didn't understand those things himself, but what he did understand was the need to be quiet, the need to stay out of the way until the screaming stopped and until the house was quiet again. Then, he understood that in the morning he would have to help Momma clean up the mess and he would have to help her hide the cuts and bruises so that no one knew. That was the most important thing. To hide. They couldn't let anyone know.

He still remembered how she had taken him aside one day and explained to him what could happen if he told anyone what went on in the house. They would take Sally away. They would all be separated and Daddy would kill them. One by one. It was better to be together, even here.

"Tell me a stowy, Toby," Sally begged.

"Okay, but I have to whisper; so you'll have to be real quiet, okay?"

Sally nodded and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

"Okay. There was a little boy and his sister."

"What were thew names? Toby and Sawy?"

"Nope. Timothy and Sarah," Toby said, smiling. Sally grinned. They hated their names. Daddy had picked them, of course. Momma had told them once what she would have picked if she could have. They kept it a secret from Daddy.

"Tim and Sarah lived in a pretty house and it was always sunny during the day. They got to go to school..."

"I don' wanna go school," Sally said.

"I do," Toby said fervently. "I went once. It was amazing. Some day, I'm gonna go to school every day and I'm gonna be the smartest kid there. I'm gonna read every book in the library, and then I'll tell you what they say until you can read them, too."

There was another scream and then a fresh batch of cursing from down below. Sally burrowed her head into Toby's shoulder.

"Momma's real pretty and she gets to go shoppin' whenever she wants. She doesn't have to cry or clean up the broken glass. We got friends and go to the park nearly every day."

"What about Daddy?"

"Daddy's not there. Maybe Momma meets a nice guy...like the one in town. They gets married and we got a new Dad."

"Tobias Allen McGregor!" The voice thundered through the house, shaking the thin walls. "You get down here right this second!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Witness**

Toby paled and looked at Sally. "You stay here and don' make no noise, got it? Not even if you hears stuff. Don't say anything. If you gotta cry, use my sweater to block the sound. Okay?"

Sally nodded and picked up the ratty sweater. Toby never wore it. He held it. It was a gift from the nice man in town. He always held it tightly at night when Daddy was home.

"Tobias you get down here now or I'm comin' up there and you'll be sorry!"

Toby ran out of the closet and down the stairs. Nothing had happened to Sally yet, and Toby was determined to keep it that way. Nothing would _ever_ happen to Sally. He ran into the living room and stopped in shock. It wasn't Momma lying on the floor. It wasn't the broken beer bottles. It wasn't even the blood. He'd seen them all too often in his ten years to be shocked by them anymore. No, what shocked him was what his father was holding in his hand. _How did he find it?_

"What is this _junk_, boy?"

"Just..." Toby's voice quavered. "Just a toy, Daddy."

"A toy?!" Daddy looked drunkenly amused. "It looks like a chalkboard to me...with math problems on it!"

"It's just a toy, Daddy," Toby whispered. The first whack took him by surprise. He landed on Momma and felt dazed. Usually, he could duck and only feel a little bit. Daddy never hit him much. It was only at the end.

"You think you're smart enough to go to school? You're nothing but an idiot, boy! Can't do nothing right! I see _crap_ like this lyin' around and you'll feel more than that!"

"Yes, Daddy," Toby whispered. That was the other rule. Always agree with Daddy.

"Now, I have business here tonight. You two get off your lazy behinds and clean this mess up!"

"Yes, Daddy," Toby whispered at the same time as Momma whispered, "Yes, Tobias."

Together, they quietly began to clean up the glass. Toby pushed and pulled the furniture back into place and regrettably dropped the broken chalkboard into the garbage can. He was ashamed that his hands were shaking. He could feel the side of his face swelling up and he was dizzy. But Daddy hadn't remember Sally and that was all that mattered. If Daddy was high, and it seemed like he was, that meant the other drug people would be coming. That meant that Momma and Toby and Sarah would have to hide upstairs and not let anyone know they were there.

When everything was cleaned up, Toby and Momma began to walk up the stairs.

"Tobias!"

Toby froze. So did Momma.

"You stay."

"Yes, Daddy."

"Tobias, no," Momma said. Toby was amazed. Momma disagreed! Daddy seemed surprised as well. He walked over to her.

"What did you say?"

"Please, Tobias. Don't do this. Please."

Daddy grabbed Momma and looked like he was going to kill her.

"I'm here, Daddy. I'm here. I won't go upstairs," Toby said. Daddy pushed him hard and he fell to the ground. Then, he threw Momma down onto the stairs.

Momma looked afraid, but she didn't dare disobey again. She limped up the stairs.

"You sit there, boy and don't say a word," Daddy ordered.

Toby sat down and tried to imagine that he was in school, learning things. He wasn't sure exactly _what_ people got to learn in school, but it must be wonderful. There were so many kids there. He went into a daze and only came out when there was a pounding on the door. He awoke from his dream, scared and trembling. Daddy _never_ had them downstairs when the drug people came over.

"'bout time you all got here," Daddy muttered as the men came inside.

Toby looked at them. They were like Daddy. He could tell. They had looks on their faces that were the same as Daddy's...only worse. They carried guns. Daddy didn't have a gun. They also looked at him in a way that made his skin crawl. He wanted to run. He wanted to get away, but he had to obey Daddy.

They talked and passed the drugs back and forth. Then, Toby noticed that he seemed to be a part of the deal. He didn't understand it, but he was afraid. They started shouting. It made his head hurt. Then, all of the men had their guns out and were pointing them at Daddy. He gestured to Toby and Toby somehow made his legs carry him over to the dangerous men. One of the men put a possessive hand on his shoulder. The hand squeezed more and more tightly until Toby winced. Then, he was thrown to the side again and he was on the floor by the front door. The guns started making loud noises. He'd never heard guns before. When they stopped, Daddy was lying on the floor, bleeding. Toby didn't feel sad about that, but he was still afraid. The men began to gather up their drugs and then they looked at him.

For the first time, one of them spoke to him.

"You're coming with me."

Before he could stop the words, Toby whimpered, "I want Momma."

"There's someone else in here?"

Toby realized his mistake and shook his head, over and over. The man slapped him.

"Don't lie to me, boy."

"Momma, Momma!" Toby cried.

Then, the front door flew open. There were other men with guns and uniforms and shiny badges shouting.

Then, Toby was dragged in front of the dangerous man and the gun was against his head.

"Move it or the kid dies."

Toby looked at the other men with guns. They looked nice. One of them...he blinked and noticed that one was the nice man from town, the one who had given him the sweater. Then, he heard Momma scream and thump down the stairs. That was enough. The drug man whirled around and more guns fired. Then, Toby was on the floor with the man on top of him.

"Toby! Toby!" Momma was screaming and he could hear Sally crying. The man was pulled off of Toby. He was alive and his evil eyes met Toby's for a long moment. They stared at each other even while Momma held Toby close and told him that he was all right. The man scared him still. His eyes were so cold. They were worse than Daddy's. Daddy's eyes were always angry. This man was just empty. He was cold and evil.

The man was pulled out of the house, but Toby watched him disappear. The man had whispered something to him and it made him afraid, more afraid than he'd been before. _You're mine. Never forget that._

Then, the nice man was crouched down in front of the McGregors. He looked at Sally and his eyes widened when he saw the sweater she was holding in one hand while sucking her thumb.

Toby finally paid attention to the words being said.

"You're the nice man from town," Toby whispered. "Momma, he's the nice man who gave me the sweater."

"Yes, I see that, Toby." She didn't sound happy, though.

"You all live here?" the nice man asked.

There was a bitterness in Momma's voice as she answered. "Yes, if you can call this living."

"Momma, Daddy's dead," Toby said, suddenly remembering.

"I'm sorry," the nice man said.

"We're not," Momma said.

"You're not?"

"Look what he did to my son. Look what he did to me!" Momma said, almost shouting. It made Toby's head hurt.

"We didn't even know he was married, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Momma, don' shout," Toby begged. "Please, don' shout."

"I'm sorry, Toby."

"Do we still have to keep secrets, Momma? Can we tell now?"

Momma started to cry. She pulled Sally close and rocked them both back and forth.

Toby didn't understand and he twisted in her grip and began to try and comfort her. "I'm sorry, Momma. I didn' mean to make you cry...not like Daddy."

"Toby, you are _nothing_ like Daddy. Nothing," Momma said fiercely. "You will _never_ be like him. You can tell now. Daddy can't hurt us anymore."

Toby nodded and looked at the nice man. "Daddy hurts us. Every day. He hits Momma...and me, too. He don' let us go anywhere. If we do, we get hurt. He had the drug people over all the time. He was gonna send me wit' them. The man...the man with the bad eyes...he tol' me that...that I was his. I don' have t'go wit' him, do I?" Toby started to cry. "I don' wanna go wit' him. He's bad."

The nice man put his hand on Toby's arm. It wasn't threatening...not like when Daddy did it.

"No, Toby. You don't. You don't have to go with him."

Before any of them could say anything, Toby pulled away from Momma and hugged the man tightly. "Thank you! Thank you! Daddy was bad. Daddy was a bad man! The drug man is evil! I don't wanna see them again!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Detective Nicholas Carson had no idea that the drug dealers they had been investigating were also into selling children. He had no idea that the little boy he'd given a sweater to on the street one day was the son of the piece of filth they'd been trying to bring down. As he hugged the boy, the words he had spoken suddenly made sense. The boy was a witness. His mother was as well, but he was a witness. He could identify the man they had arrested. If they had all been there during the other drug deals, they could probably testify to a lot of activity. Tobias McGregor, Senior was an important figure in the drug underworld. His death and the arrest of some of his partners would shake up the drug trade, even if only until the others could reorganize. Once the news that a young boy was a witness got out, his life would be worth less than a penny in the gutter.

He met Mrs. McGregor's eyes. He realized he didn't know her name even. She understood. She wasn't an idiot, for all that she was dressed like some backwoods housewife. She had lived in desperation, sacrificing herself for her children. Now, she understood all too well that her son was in danger, that they _all_ were.

"Would you come with us–?" he paused, waiting for her to introduce herself.

"Alice. My name is Alice. Yes, we'll come." She stood, picked up Sally and looked at Toby with tears in her eyes.

Det. Carson led them all out the door, allowing Toby to hold onto him. This family tore him apart.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're a policeman?" Toby asked. It was a few hours later. They were at the hospital. He'd had stitches and the doctors had diagnosed a low-grade concussion. He was sitting patiently on the bed while Momma was being fixed. Sally was asleep beside him. He held her.

"Yes," Nick said. He had told Toby to call him Nick.

"What do you do?"

"I try to help people."

"Why do you need a gun for that?"

"Because sometimes, like tonight, we have to go after dangerous people. It helps us protect people and ourselves."

"I tried to do that."

"When?"

"Momma and I, we didn' want Daddy t' start hurtin' Sally. She's so little. So...whenever Daddy'd start on Momma, I'd hide with Sally in th' closet. Most of th'time, he'd forget about us...'cause we don' matter, 'cept when he's mad."

"Well, then, you do what I do."

"Can I see your badge?"

"Sure." Nick handed it over.

Toby looked at it. It was a shield. He wondered if it protected Nick from the bad guys.

"I wanna be a policeman."

Nick took back the badge. "Toby, I think you can be whatever you want to be, but you should make sure you try lots of things first. What are your favorite subjects in school?"

"Never been."

"Never?"

"No. I wanna go, but Daddy'd never let me. He said I was too dumb for school. He said I wasn' good enough for it."

"Never let anyone tell you that, Toby. You're smart enough. I think you must be a genius."

"Why?"

"Because I can tell. I can see when kids are smart, and you're smart. So is your sister. You both should go to school and then you can see what you like and what you want to do when you grow up."

"I can go?"

"Of course."

"You're...you're not just kidding?"

"No. I wouldn't do that, Toby."

Toby smiled, but then he remembered the man again.

"What about the drug men?"

"What about them?"

"They know me. What if they find me at school?" Toby asked, feeling afraid again.

"Toby, how would you feel about going somewhere else and having a different name?"

"Could it be Timothy?"

"You wouldn't mind?"

"No! I hate it here. I hate my name...and Sally's name. Daddy picked them. Momma didn' get to choose. I wanna get away. Can we do that?"

"Yes. Now, you and your Momma are going to have to talk about it, but we need your help."

"For what?"

"If you had to, could you tell people about what you saw in the house?"

"How would that help?"

"It would help us put the men in prison."

Toby looked at Nick for a while. He was afraid of the men. He didn't want to have to tell strangers about them...but... he looked at Sally. If he was going to be a policeman and protect people, he should start now.

"Will you help us, Toby?"

"Yes."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The McGregors all died that day. With the death of Tobias, the others died as well. The deaths were not regretted by any of them. Alice, Sally, and Toby died with a cheer, not a whimper. Their deaths heralded the birth of the McGees: Joan, Sarah and Timothy. They moved away from their prison in Chicago and set themselves up in a small town in western New York. If any of the agents in charge of creating their new histories were surprised by the ease with which the McGees were born, they didn't show it. The McGregors had been miserable. The McGees had a chance to be happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Growing Up**

It was not an easy road to travel from abuse to happiness. Timothy had nightmares. He was extremely jumpy around strangers. He was also years behind his age group and had to have tutors. Sarah was very clingy and had to be told every morning that Tim would be coming back, that he wasn't in trouble. Joan had to remind herself that she was allowed to leave the house, that there was no reason to look over her shoulder when someone came to the door. She had to tell herself that she could talk to her neighbors without fear.

There was something about both Tim and Joan that made the teachers at his school very understanding. They had the _look_ of people who had been abused. Allowances were made for Tim that might not have been for a student who was simply behind. Besides, once Tim got over his strange fear of being punished for his intelligence, he was insatiable. He studied so long that the teachers at school had to force him to go home. Joan had to pull the books from his hands as he tried to make up for ten years of isolation in a single year. By the time Tim turned eleven, he was above grade level in every subject. He didn't just learn; his eyes shone when he was given more to do. Everything the teachers asked of him, he did...and more. He wouldn't, _couldn't_ stop. He came home in the afternoons and read to Sarah. He told her about the things he was learning. His enthusiasm was infectious and soon she was begging to go to school, too.

Still, life wasn't easy. Tim's past was a dark shadow that sometimes caught up with him, and with Tim's attendance at school came the inevitable fate of a geek: bullying...but for once, his past actually _helped_ him.

"Hey, McGee!"

Tim walked a little faster, holding his notebook firmly in front of him. He was still very small for his age. Years of neglect had stunted his growth.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

He was surrounded. He stopped. The bullies. They remembered him every so often. Too often, actually. He looked up at them fearfully. Today was different. The looks in their eyes reminded him of...of Toby's father...of that other man. He began to tremble. He couldn't hear what they were saying. He could just _feel_ how close they were to him, how much _danger_ he was in at the moment. As they pressed closer saying words he couldn't hear, his notebook fell from his hands. One of the bullies raised his arm and Tim shrank to the floor, his hands over his head and he began to scream.

"No, Daddy! No! Don't hit me again, Daddy! Please! I'll be good! No! No!"

Tim didn't notice the bullies back away. He didn't notice that _his_ terror scared _them_. The hallways which previously had been noisy with kids running to class became silent...except for Tim who continued to scream and cry and plead with someone who was not there, who had been dead for two years. Finally, a teacher noticed, heard his pitiful screams echoing through the hallways and came out of her room. She knelt beside Tim and began trying to talk to him, but he didn't hear her. He was huddled on the floor, his notebook forgotten, the contents spilling across the hall. Tim had fallen over onto his side, curling his small body into a fetal position with his hands fending off imagined blows.

The teacher sent a student to get the nurse and then to tell the office to call Tim's mother. The screams lasted for about twenty minutes. The other teachers began to quietly herd the lingering kids into their classrooms. They weren't likely to get much done with the shock of Tim's breakdown. Tim wasn't outgoing. He had few friends, but, except for the bullies, no one was malicious. He was a quiet studious boy and they all secretly hoped to be paired with him for class projects. Now, he was strange, disturbed...in pain as few of them had ever seen before.

Joan was there by the time the screaming had faded to shuddering and sobbing. She knelt beside him.

"Timothy, what happened?"

Tim couldn't answer.

She picked him up off the floor and began to rock him back and forth. "Don't worry, honey. He can't hurt us anymore. He's gone now. Shhh..." She kept up the flow of comforting words and rocked his limp body until the tears faded and he was left taking shaking breaths.

"I remembered..." he said haltingly.

"I know, Timothy. I'm sorry," she said softly, tears coming to her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Timothy."

"It was the bullies. They were there, but then, I saw Daddy instead. I was...I was so scared, Momma."

"It's all right, now, sweetie. It's okay. You're safe now. We're all safe now." She wiped away her tears.

"C-Can I still go to school, Momma?" Tim asked, pitifully.

"Of course, Timothy. Of course, you can. Why don't you go with the nurse right now and then you can go back to class later?"

Tim shook his head. "Can't I go back to class now? I don't want to miss anything." His eyes were red from crying and his face was pale. He was still shaking a little bit, but the nurse could see that he needed the normalcy and she nodded.

"Yes, Timothy, you can. I'll clear it with Mr. Owens. Go ahead."

Carefully, Tim bent over and picked up his notebook and then kissed Joan on the cheek and tried to smile at her. As he walked away down the empty the hall, Joan had to keep herself from grabbing him and hugging him so tightly that no one would ever get to him again. When he went into the classroom, she looked at the nurse and nodded to her unspoken request. Then, she went to the office and explained: Yes, Tim and she had both been abused. She had left her husband and they were still trying to get over it. When the nurse recommended seeing a counselor, Joan could hardly deny that Tim needed it. He'd been such a trooper over the past couple of years that she had hoped he, like Sarah, had been able to just put it in the past.

Obviously not. Some things just couldn't stay in the past.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The drug case went to trial the year Tim turned thirteen, the same year he had been accelerated. Actually, his teachers thought he could more than likely graduate from high school already. It wasn't that he was a prodigy, just a boy who loved learning more than anything else. It hurt to have to miss a week of school to return to Chicago in order to testify. He also hated that he had to go back to being Toby. The only nice thing was seeing Nick again. He always felt safe with him around. Even when he had to walk into the court room and feel those evil eyes on him again, the eyes that made him want to scrunch himself into a little ball. He made himself look away from the eyes and look at Nick instead. Tim was still small. He hadn't hit his growth spurt yet. When the questions were over, Tim got off the stand and walked by the man. He couldn't help but look over and he saw the man mouth the same words at him he had three years before.

_You're mine. Never forget that._

It was only then that Tim shied away. Those were the words that he kept hearing in his dreams. Daddy was finally fading away, but this man was the monster under his bed. Nick was there, grabbing his arm and leading him out of the court room.

After the doors were closed behind them, Tim let himself start to shake and a few tears slipped down his cheeks.

"What happened, Tim?" Nick asked, as they walked.

"He said I was his again. I'm scared of him, Nick," Tim whispered. "He's going to go away, right? He's not going to...to..."

"If I can do it, he's going away...for a long time. Tim, you were very brave in there. I'm proud of you."

"I was scared, though."

Nick stopped and knelt down in front of Tim. "Everyone gets scared, Tim. Everyone."

"Even you?"

"Even me. What matters is what you _do_ when you get scared. You could have decided not to talk, but you didn't. You still told them what you saw. That's important."

"Do I have to do that again?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I don't want to. I don't want to see him again."

"I know. If we can manage without you, we will, but I'm glad that you're helping us."

Tim sniffed and brushed away the tears. "I still want to be a policeman."

"Do you now?" Nick stood up again and led Tim out of the building. "I thought you were a computer whiz."

Tim flushed. "I like computers."

"What are you going to study then?"

"Computers...and whatever else I want to." As they got into the car that would take Tim to the safe house, he looked at Nick in concern. "I can do computers and still be a policeman, right?"

"I think you can. I'm not a computer person myself." He saw Tim's face fall. "Hey, what did I tell you before? You can do anything you want to do. I'll bet that you can find something in computers that will let you be a policeman, too."

"I'll find out," Tim said, his voice determined once more.

Nick smiled and put his arm around Tim's shoulder. "I have no doubt of that, Tim."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Alexander Sharp, the man who had threatened Tim, was convicted, as were a number of his fellow drug dealers. There was an appeal...as there always is, and Tim came back again when he was fourteen. It was easier to confront the man this time, but he still was afraid. The appeal failed. Sharp went to prison. Life, but with a possibility of parole.

The year Tim turned fifteen, he started to grow. Finally. He shot up like a weed gaining back all the ground he'd lost in the first years of his life. He turned sixteen...and continued to grow. As the end of high school came closer, he not only surpassed six feet, he realized that he'd be leaving home, for the first time ever. He'd be leaving Sarah and Joan behind while he went to MIT. It was an exciting and terrifying prospect. It had been six years since he'd left Toby behind, but he was still only a teenager. ...but there was still so _much_ to learn. He would be off to MIT in the fall...away from the bullies, away from his family. Out in the world that he'd never really experienced.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

College was all he'd thought it would be and more. It was amazing. He couldn't believe how much there was to learn. His homesickness faded away...as did his memories of the past. He threw himself headlong into his studies and was almost surprised when he found that he was headed toward a B.S. computer science. He would have gone on without thinking about it, but Joan was worried about how little time he was taking to have fun. So, he signed up for a fencing class...and that ruined his perfect GPA. He was bummed about that, but decided that he could tolerate a 3.9, even if he had hoped for a 4.0.

The magic moment came when he was doing a random library search. He still had the dream of being a cop like Nick, but he was beginning to think that he wasn't the right kind of person for it. Nick had this inherent...toughness about him, like nothing in the world scared him. Tim didn't have that. He could be _almost_ anything he wanted to be...but not a cop. Then, he saw it, a subset of computer science. He smiled and immediately made an appointment to talk with his advisor.

"Computer forensics?"

"Yes."

"For your Master's?"

"Yes!" Tim said, his mind already racing with the possibilities.

"Why, Tim?"

"Why?"

"Yes. You've been looking at lots of other options. You seemed interested in a more theoretical field. Why forensics?"

"I want to be in law enforcement," Tim said, with only a trace of embarrassment.

His advisor leaned back in his chair and stared at Tim over steepled fingers. Finally, he sighed and smiled.

"I don't know what's going through your head, Tim, but I think it's a bit beyond me. I have no doubt that you can do whatever it is you want to, just don't waste the brain God gave you."

"I won't."

"All right, then. Let's make sure that you get into the program. I know just who you should talk to." He leaned over and picked up his phone. As he met Tim's delighted grin, he knew he wasn't making a mistake.

Tim worked his schedule, filling it with anything and everything he could. By the time he got his B.S., he was nearly burned out. Joan _forced_ him to take a break. He had to admit that he needed one. So, that summer, he spent reading novels...mystery novels, detective novels...and at the end of the summer, he had started his first hesitant scratchings of ideas. Once he started his Master's, however, all other work left his mind. He was too busy filling it with other things. His one free summer was spent on independent study in string theory...just because...because he could. Because there was an opportunity to do it.

He finished his Master's, passing it all with flying colors...as anyone who knew him expected. The only question left was...

"What am I going to do next?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He looked around at his options, but he wasn't sure what to do next. He had gone over what being a cop entailed and he still wasn't sure he had what it took, not when nightmares of Toby's father and Alexander Sharp still haunted his sleep. However, he had to either get a job or find something else to do. He couldn't tolerate the down time. His thesis advisor noticed his anxiety and made what turned out to be a wonderful suggestion...although not quite the way he had thought it would be.

"Why don't you get a second Bachelor's degree?"

"What?" Tim asked. "Why?"

"Because you obviously need to do something and you don't appear to know what that is. With your brains you could easily get another scholarship, even with a Master's degree."

Tim looked at him and thought about it. It wasn't abhorrent. He loved school...but he was old enough to get a real job.

"Think about it, Tim. When you realize that I'm right, I'll write you some glowing recommendations."

Tim smiled and left. He thought about it. What else could he do? He hadn't figured that out just yet. So, he went back to his advisor and got the glowing recommendations. Then, he turned his thoughts to what he should do. He looked around at other computer programs, but he felt as though he knew enough that he just had to keep up his skills. He wasn't bored with them, but he wanted to learn something completely new...or if not completely new, at least the application was completely new.

"You want to do what?"

"You said you'd write glowing recommendations," Tim said smiling.

"I will, but bio-medical engineering? Why?"

"It's different."

"It is that."

He wrote the recommendations, and Tim thanked him. To no one's surprise, he got into Johns Hopkins. He was able to skip over many of the general education requirements, but he threw himself into all the work. It was challenging stuff. It was different from computers at first, but the further he got into the program, the more computers figured into it and the more comfortable he felt with the material. By the time he finished, he was nearly twenty-four and he needed to figure out what to do with himself.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I don't know anymore, Mom," Tim said the summer after he got his degree.

"Don't know what, Tim?" Joan asked. She smiled at him. "With three degrees under your belt, I kind of doubt that there's much you _don't_ know anymore."

Tim laughed. "There's lots I still don't know."

"Do I hear the sound of another degree in the making?"

"No. I think...I think I'm done with regular schooling."

Joan went serious. "What is it, Tim? I never thought I'd hear you say that. The word _insatiable_ pretty much describes you and learning."

"Oh, I still want to learn, but..."

Then, she got it. "Oh...I see. This is about your dreams of being like Nick, isn't it?"

Tim blushed and looked out the bright window to the back yard.

"It's a fine goal to have, Tim. You just need to figure it out."

"I don't think I can be a regular cop, Mom," Tim admitted. "I don't think I could do that...but I still want it. Everything I'm learning is great...I could go to school for the rest of my life, but...I want more than that."

"What do you want, Tim?"

Tim looked back at her. "I want to help people, Mom...I want to help people like Nick helped us."

The shadow that still existed for Joan and for Tim passed over Joan's face. Sarah didn't have much of it.

"You'll find what you need. Just look around for it, Tim. I'll support you in whatever you choose."

Tim looked from the back yard to Joan again. "Mom?"

"What, dear?"

"Do you think you'll ever fall in love?"

Joan smiled softly. "I'm a little old for that now."

"No, you're not."

She stopped smiling. "I don't think so, Tim. I love my children. That's enough for me. What about you?"

"No one yet, Mom. I'll let you know."

The front door slammed.

"Mom! I'm home! You'll never guess what I saw–" But whatever it was Sarah had seen was forgotten when she saw Tim in the kitchen. "Timmy!" she screeched, dropped her bag and hugged him tightly. "When did you get home?"

"Just this afternoon," Tim said, grinning.

"What are you doing here?"

"Trying to figure out my life."

"You should come back here."

"I'm twenty-four, Sarah. I can't move back home."

Sarah let him go. "You know, in some Indian homes, they have generations of families all living together. Parents, kids, grandparents, aunts, uncles..."

"We are not from India, Sarah."

"Killjoy."

Tim laughed. "I'm going to be around for a few days at least."

"Great!"

As things worked out, Tim did move back home for a while. Still feeling aimless, Joan got him a job at the bank where she worked. He accepted it, knowing that he needed an income, but wishing there was something else.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Goal**

As much as working at the bank bored him, Tim might have stayed there for a lot longer than he wanted but for a postcard that came via the Witness Protection Program from Nick when he'd been at the bank for six months. On the front was a picture of the Navy Yard in Washington DC. Nick's message on the back was very short:

_Tim,_

_You've been looking for a way to be cop...without working a beat. Why not try NCIS? I ran into a couple of agents at FLETC this summer. Look them up. I think you'll be interested._

_Nick_

Tim flipped the card back over. NCIS? What was that? Obviously something to do with the Navy. The Navy?

"I get seasick. How could I be in the Navy?" Tim wondered aloud. He got on the Internet and began to surf. There wasn't a whole lot to find...but he found a phone number and an address. He called and requested an application package.

It took a few days for the package to arrive, but when it did, Tim poured over the information. That night, he told Joan and Sarah what he was going to do.

"NCIS? What in the world is that?" Sarah asked.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Navy?" Sarah laughed outright. "Tim...you get seasick on a dingy."

"I don't have to join the Navy. It's a civilian agency...and the shipboard stuff is special request. I would have to be willing to move anywhere in the world, though."

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere there's a US Navy presence, at least," Tim said, feeling the excitement building up in his chest.

"Why this, Tim?" Joan asked.

"I got a...postcard from Nick a few days ago," he admitted. At Joan's expression, he hurriedly added, "It's through the Program, not just in the mail."

She nodded.

"He met a couple of agents and he thought it would be a good fit for me. The more I read about it, the more I think he's right. It's a long process, but I want to do it."

"Well, you're an adult, Tim. Who am I to tell you otherwise?"

Tim walked over to her. "You're my mother."

Joan smiled and kissed him on the head. "Yes, and as your mother, I say do it if you want to."

"If you're going to get all mushy, I'm out of here," Sarah said.

"Where to?"

"Maria's having a study session tonight. We have a huge test tomorrow on _Hamlet_."

Joan raised her eyebrows. "Study session?"

"We'll study...some," Sarah said, grinning.

"Make sure your _studying_ gets done before midnight."

"Yeah, yeah, Mom." Sarah grabbed her bag and headed toward the door. "That sounds cool, Tim. I'll have to find a college wherever you end up!" Then, she was gone.

Joan shook her head. "She's nearly as smart as you are, Tim...if she would only focus a little more."

"We can't all be nerds, Mom."

Joan's expression turned serious. "Do you _really_ want this, Tim? Or is this just because Nick suggested it?"

"At first, it was because of Nick...but Mom, the more I see of it...the more I feel like...like it's right."

"Are you sure you're not just trying to prove something?"

Tim went solemn. "What would I have to prove, Mom?"

"That you're not your father."

Tim stood up and walked to the window. "He's not my father. He was _Toby's_ father. He's not mine. I don't have a father."

Joan followed him and put her hand on his arm. "You _do_ have a father, Tim. You can't ignore what happened to us, anymore than you can ignore who you were before. You _did_ have a father. He was a horrible, cruel man...and somehow, I don't know how, you managed to become the sweetest boy I've ever known. You are not, and never will be, your father. You have nothing to prove. If this is what you want, then, by all means, go for it, but don't do it out of some misguided belief that you have to show everyone that you're not him."

Tim's head dropped a little bit. "I look like him, Mom. I remember what he looked like...and I look like him."

"I don't see the resemblance," Joan said firmly. "Yes, your features are uncommonly like his, but _you_, and what you've become has changed your face. Tobias was cruel and full of hatred. You are kind and I can't figure out why no girls have snapped you up yet."

Tim blushed but then he looked at her earnestly. "Mom..."

"What?"

"He probably didn't start out thinking he would be that way. What if I..."

"You won't."

"How can you know?" Tim asked, his voice taking on a plaintive tone. "They say that abuse runs in families. They even call it the cycle of abuse."

Joan looked up at her son. He had most definitely inherited Tobias' stature while Sarah had Joan's petite frame. "_They_ can say whatever they like. Tim, you know what life is supposed to be like. You've known it since you were a child. You won't be like him because you don't _want_ to be. You have a choice. Your father had a choice. He chose to hurt us. You can choose to do otherwise."

Tim didn't answer.

"Do you really want this, Tim?"

"Yeah, Mom."

"Okay, then. Go for it...don't let anything stop you."

Tim finally smiled.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The application process took weeks. Tim filled out the form, sent it in and then waited...and waited, all the while fearing he'd be rejected. Finally, two weeks after he submitted the application, he was accepted for the first phase of testing. He flew to the nearest field office in Norfolk. The tests took four hours. He had one moment of panic when he was filling out the biographical information, but he very firmly told himself that he'd been Timothy McGee a lot longer than he had been Toby McGregor. It was his name now in the eyes of everyone. No one had known Toby except for his family and Nick. No one. Toby didn't exist anymore. He nodded to himself and continued on, pushing Toby out of his mind.

After he finished the tests, he turned them in and walked out of the building and wondered what he'd feel like if he failed this part, what he'd do if he...

...but he didn't. Two and a half weeks later, he received word that he'd passed the Applicant Test Battery. This time, when they scheduled the pre-screening interview, he borrowed Joan's car and drove to Norfolk instead of flying. He was really nervous about the interview. People made him nervous. Computers made a lot more sense. Computers didn't bully you or ask awkward questions. People did.

To his abject relief, a week after the interview, he received word that he had passed. The next hurdle, the Formal Screening Board interview, was scheduled another two weeks later. During the time he was waiting, Tim frantically tried to get in better shape. He knew he wasn't really physically-fit. Computers didn't require it...but he knew that being an NCIS Special Agent would. He ran himself into the ground trying to present a modicum of fitness in the off chance that he did pass his Formal Screening Board interview. Sarah laughed at him, but she started running with him in the mornings, just to keep him company...and to give him someone to compete with.

Again, he passed. Tim didn't tell anyone, but he was secretly shocked that he had. Every step of the way, he had expected to be told that he wasn't what they were looking for. He even passed his physical...barely. He heaved a huge sigh of relief at that. His one remaining worry was that the background check would turn up some heretofore unknown loose end linking him to his former life.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, there's a letter for you," Joan called as Tim walked in. It was four months after the end of the application process. The continued period of nothing had made Tim feel a bit discouraged. It was harder than ever to go back to the bank.

"Where?"

"On the table! It's from NCIS!"

Tim stopped. "Did you open it?"

"Of course not," Joan said coming into the front room. "It's _your_ letter, not mine. However, I'll admit to being very tempted. So...open it now."

"Maybe I should wait for Sarah."

"She's not going to be home until late tonight. She's helping out with the school play."

"But..."

Joan smiled. "Open it. The news will be the same no matter when you do."

"What if they're telling me that they've changed their minds about putting me in the pool? What if they found something...something that just came up and they're rejecting me? What if–?"

"Tim, if that's the case, however unlikely, that won't change if you stare at it."

Tim stared at the envelope in his hands. He was afraid to open it. He had pinned all his hopes on this one event. He had no idea what he'd do if he didn't get in. He handed it to Joan.

"Mom, you open it. I can't."

Joan took it and smiled. "If I had known that, I _would_ have opened it when I got the mail." She slid her finger under the flap and opened the letter. She pulled it out and read it silently.

"What does it say?"

"That _you_, Special Agent McGee, are going to Glynco, Georgia to attend FLETC."

Tim's mouth dropped open. "Really? Really?"

"Really."

"Wahoo!" Tim shouted and grabbed Joan in a monstrous hug. Then, he let her go and danced around the living room, abandoning the decorum with which he usually lived his life in the moment of exultation. "I'm going to Georgia! I'm going to be a Special Agent!" Then, he stopped. "What if I don't pass?"

Joan laughed outright. "Tim, the day you fail something..."

"I failed fencing at MIT."

"That was one class."

"There will be physical fitness things. What if I can't do it?"

"Tim, calm down. Take a deep breath. Relax. Don't think like that. Go and do the best you can. It will be enough."

Tim nodded and tried not to be nervous.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Three weeks later, Tim was looking around the FLETC campus with a mixture of happiness and dread.

_I'm really here. I'm really here. Okay, don't act like an idiot. First impressions..._

Tim's thoughts were cut off by a face plant as someone else ran into him and they both fell to the ground.

"Whoa! Hey, man, I'm sorry! You okay?"

Tim pushed himself onto his knees, rubbing his now gritty and bloody hands together.

"I'm fine," Tim said softly as a memory welled up. He ignored the tightness in his throat and forced himself to smile up at the person putting his hand out to help him up. "I don't think you want to shake my hand at the moment," he added, holding up his hands for inspection.

"Oh, crap. I'm _really_ sorry," he said and grabbed Tim's arm to help him up. Tim had to force himself not to tense up at the physical contact...but he didn't succeed and the other man let him go instantly. "I'm Jim Nelson."

"...Tim McGee."

"What you here for?"

"NCIS training."

"Hey, great! Me, too. Let me help you with your stuff. We can get you cleaned up in no time."

"It's okay," Tim said, backing away a little. He knelt down again to gather up his belongings which were now spread out across the lawn. "I can do it. No problem. It's fine." Before Jim could do anything to help, he had his stuff in a messy bundle and he was backing away. "Thanks. I'm fine," he said again. Then, he spun around and began to walk away, mentally kicking himself for letting his childhood demons get the best of him in the moment.

He went for two weeks without seeing Jim in anything but a classroom setting. He noticed a speculative look on his face once, but Tim couldn't figure out how to explain that it wasn't anything he had done wrong...not without revealing his history..and while the abuse had been incorporated into the McGee family history, he didn't like to talk about it. There was so much to do, so much studying, so much work, that it was easy for Tim to float around the background of FLETC without making much impact on anyone.

Then, the physical fitness training started...and the firearms training...and all the other things that couldn't be learned from a book or in a classroom. ...and Tim lagged behind everyone. For two weeks, he stayed up late at night rereading the technical information about shooting a gun, about defense tactics, anything that might help him pass. He had gone to a firing range a few times when he was younger, but never with this kind of pressure. He had wrestled a bit in high school, but never against people who were so...big.

He went to the firing range and tried again. He kept missing. He just couldn't get the feeling of what he had to do.

_I'm going to fail._ The sentence repeated in his head over and over again. He had passed all the previous hurdles to fail just before the finish line.

"You're flinching, you know."

Tim jumped and turned around, almost forgetting to lower the gun. Jim was watching him.

"What?"

"You're flinching. Just before you pull the trigger. Every time. You're afraid of the sound."

"No, I'm not."

Jim just chuckled. "Yeah, you are, Tim. You're flinching. You close your eyes just for an instant before you fire."

"Um...okay." Tim turned around again and tried to keep his eyes open...but he flinched. He felt it that time. It was too much like his worst nightmare when Sharp had fallen on top of him. He sighed in resignation. "You're right. I do flinch." He sighed again. "Great."

"So...was it your mom or your dad? I'm guessing it was your father."

Tim put the gun down on the counter, mainly to hide the momentary trembling. "What do you mean?"

"I've had some psychology training, Tim. I can tell an abuse victim when I see one."

Tim unloaded the gun without looking back. He walked by Jim to put it away.

"You don't talk to anyone here. You nearly freak out when someone touches you. You're incredibly jumpy for someone who wants to be an agent."

Tim didn't answer. Instead, he began to walk away. Jim followed.

"Who, Tim?"

"What's it to you?"

"Concern."

Tim turned around. "Why? Why do you care?"

"Because I knocked you down on your first day here. I put you in the wrong frame of mind from the beginning because I made you bleed. Besides, I can tell how much you want this."

Tim looked at his feet. "It was my father."

"How long?"

"Started on me when I was five, my mom earlier. He died when I was ten."

"Wow."

Suddenly, Tim started talking again. He didn't look at Jim. His head was down the whole time, but for the first time since he had seen the counselor back in junior high, he told someone about his childhood. "The first time, it was because I asked if I could go to school. He wouldn't let me leave the house, not even for school. I didn't start school until he was dead. I never had any friends. I didn't talk to anyone outside of my family. It was just Mom and I, trying to keep my dad from remembering my younger sister and starting on her as well. Every night, he'd come home and start shouting. That was when I'd take my sister and hide in the closet. My job was to make sure she didn't cry while Momma...I mean, Mom was screaming and bleeding downstairs. Sometimes, he'd remember me and I'd have to go down. If Mom was okay, she'd go upstairs to hide Sal-Sarah while he hit me. Then, we'd have to clean up the mess, the glass and the blood...just in time for it to start again. Every once in a while, he'd let us out, only one at a time so that we had to come back. The night he died, he...found an old piece of slate I'd made into a chalkboard. He told me how stupid I was, that I could never go to school because I wasn't worth anything. Then, he hit me with the chalkboard...broke it in pieces. I had a concussion."

"Hey, Tim. I'm sorry," Jim said quietly.

Tim barely heard him. "I used to wonder why it was that I had such a father. I wondered what I had done to deserve it. I asked my mother if we were bad. Once, a man gave me an old sweater of his because the one I had was in rags. It was the first present I ever had. I used to make up stories to make Sarah smile. They were always about happy people. I knew they must exist. I saw them on the street, but I didn't think I'd ever be happy."

Tim finally looked up, a sardonic grin plastered across his face. "Now, it's nearly fifteen years later...and I'm still afraid of him." He was surprised to see that Jim merely looked interested...and concerned, as he had said he was. There was no revulsion, no pity.

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Jim Nelson. Born and raised in San Francisco. My dad's a Navy man, but I didn't want to enlist, much to his dismay. He died a few years ago of cancer, smoked like a chimney. I decided that I wanted to honor his memory...but I couldn't bring myself to enlist. I saw NCIS, and I was so excited by the possibility that I immediately applied. I don't seem to have any luck with the girls. I did psychology in college, but I didn't like it much. I love to run. I still read science fiction novels in my spare time, but I'm terrible at science. I can quote every _Star Wars_ movie from beginning to end. I dressed up as Chewbacca for Halloween one year."

Tim shook his hand and chuckled. "I'm Tim McGee...I'm a nerd. I graduated from high school at sixteen. I am more comfortable with computers than people. I didn't go on my first date until I was in the master's program at MIT. I've always wanted to be in law enforcement. I love detective novels. I speak Klingon...somewhat. I have seen all the _Star Wars_ movies and read quite a few of the books. I never dressed up for Halloween. I have a degree in computer science, bio-medical engineering and computer forensics. The only class I ever failed was fencing which I only took because my mother insisted that I needed a relaxing course."

"Nice to meet you." Jim smiled broadly.

"Likewise."

After that, Jim was a friend. He never brought up Tim's past again, and Tim didn't feel the need to address it either. He took the time to coach Tim on firearms training. Jim forced him to go running with him, although he slowed his pace so Tim could keep up. He slowly helped Tim join the group of NCIS agents with whom he studied. When he struggled through the computer portion, Tim reciprocated by tutoring him, staying up late into the night explaining the ins and outs of basic programming.

Finally, FLETC was over. Tim was shocked at how quickly the time had passed. Twenty weeks had flown by...and what was more shocking was the fact that he had actually graduated...as had Jim.

When they got their first assignments, Tim was almost sad to see that he had received the next closest office to his choice of NCIS headquarters. He was to report to the field office at Norfolk. Jim was off to the San Diego office. It was hard to say good-bye to his first close friend, but they both promised to keep in touch and Tim was off to New York to pack up his belongings and move to Norfolk.

...and he was excited.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: NCIS**

(Disclaimer: This chapter and the following two chapters have several conversations from episodes. Any recognizable dialogue is the property of DPB. I am only using it for accuracy and canon concerns.)

"Good morning, Petty Officer Cluxton," Tim said.

"Good morning, Agent McGee," Cynthia replied. "Anything exciting on tap for today?"

He fell into step beside her. "Not particularly. You?"

"More vetting. I'm getting tired of it."

Tim grinned. "I'm glad I'm off that rotation now."

"Just you wait until you're back on," she said punching him lightly on the arm.

"Right. See you at lunch?"

"Of course." She headed away to her post and Tim went to his office.

"Office. Broom closet is more like it," he said softly, but he looked on his crowded messy space with a trace of pride. Small it might be, but after two months at Norfolk, he finally had a space of his own. He was so excited that he couldn't wait for his first case. He'd read the manuals over and over until he had them memorized. He was ready.

...until he found that his first case involved a body being dissolved in barrels of lye.

"It's what?" Tim asked.

"_We found a body in a barrel of lye."_

"Oh." There didn't seem to be much to say. Wait...procedures! "I'll call the investigative team in." _Is there something else?_ "Don't touch anything."

"_Gladly."_

Tim hung up and then dialed NCIS Headquarters in DC.

"_DiNozzo."_

"This is Agent McGee at Norfolk." He quickly gave the information. "Should I start to..."

"_No, the best thing is for you to do nothing. Okay, Agent McGee?"_

"You sure? Because I could..."

"_Just secure the area and wait for us to get there."_

"Yes, sir."

"_Okay."_

Tim hung up and sat back for a moment. "Secure the area. Right." He stood up, grabbed his stuff and ran out the door.

All through that day, he had to deal with the jibes of Agent DiNozzo, even to the point of being forced to stay on the crime scene overnight. He knew he didn't have to really, but since Agent DiNozzo was his superior, he figured he should listen. He wanted to make a good impression. Unfortunately, that was the very thing he thought he _hadn't_ done. He had nearly puked at the crime scene. He had been in the way. He thought about how Agent Gibbs had acted, getting in his face, asking if he could be difficult. It had taken every bit of effort he had to not cower. ...he had stuttered instead. As strange as it seemed, however, he hadn't thought of his father. There was an intensity about Agent Gibbs. He was definitely intimidating, especially to someone as easily intimidated as Tim was, but there was none of the..._evil_ that had hovered around his father.

Working with Agent DiNozzo was difficult. He was like a (semi-)grownup version of the bullies he'd dealt with in high school. The frat boy. It made Tim nervous, and he hated that he got nervous. He was surprised that his relief hadn't been palpable when they had found the computer behind the bookcase. It was easy to talk while working on the things he knew so well, the things that he had studied in school. It grounded him, made him feel that maybe he had something to offer after all.

Then...

Tim walked off the elevator and heard the bantering. He'd never been up here before. It was exciting seeing what the "real" agents did. _I want this,_ he thought to himself. Then, he kept walking.

"This is your way of telling me how much you missed me, isn't it?" Kate asked. Tim grinned inwardly. He liked her. He hadn't seen her much, but she was cool. She was sassy. She knew how to hit back.

"No," Tony said. Tim wasn't sure what he thought of Tony. Tony was...juvenile...but not completely. He would reserve judgment there.

"What are you doing here, Special Agent McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim gulped. It was hard not to be intimidated by Gibbs.

"I brought you my final report, sir." He wasn't sure if he had done the right things, said the right things.

"You do not have to Sir me, McGee."

Tim gulped. He'd done some name-dropping with Tony, but he hadn't dared with Gibbs. Then, unexpectedly, Tony did it for him.

"Didn't they teach you how to use e-mail at MIT?"

"You graduated from MIT?" Kate asked. Finally, someone sounded impressed. Tim was beginning to worry.

"And Johns Hopkins," Gibbs said.

Tim's eyes widened and he looked at Tony.

"I didn't tell him."

_He knew without being told! Maybe I did make a good impression._

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked again.

"I've...uh...got a lunch date with Abby," Tim said. He was a bit nervous. He'd never been on a blind date before. Tony didn't help him feel any better about it either.

"Oh, I've got to see this. I'll take you to her."

"Thanks."

"Thanks what?"

"Tony?" Tim asked, hopefully. The first impressions were most important.

"Sir."

_So much for that._

"I already warned you. Abby's not your type."

"Well, I'd like to find out for myself." _So, shut up and stop making me even more nervous._

"Yeah, uh, listen, kid," Tony said, sounding condescending. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you're not really Abby's type."

Tim grinned and pulled out his secret weapon. "I've taken care of that. Remember that urge we were talking about? I went with _Mom_." Then, he stepped onto the elevator. The doors closed, leaving Tony behind. Tim grinned and rubbed his rear end. It was still a little sore, but it was worth it. Even if Abby ended up not working out. The expression on Tony's face was so worth it. The doors opened again and Tim stepped out into the lab. There was loud raucous music playing. So loud that he wasn't sure he'd have any hearing left if he actually stepped through the doors...but he did.

"Hello?" he shouted...trying to be quiet, but failing in the face of the assault on his ears.

"Hey! You must be McGee!"

Tim did a double-take. Then, a triple-take. This was Abby? For a few seconds, all he could see were the seemingly endless tattoos, the spiked arm bands. The...dog collar? ...around her throat. It was like staring at an alien. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe he should have listened. How could he be of any interest to her? What would she _do_ to him? Then, he met her eyes and he forgot all that. She smiled at him and her eyes were warm and friendly.

"I am! How can you hear over this?"

"Years of practice," she shouted back. "I'm Abby."

"Nice to meet you! Are you ready to go?" Tim shouted, praying that she was so that he didn't have to stay in here any longer.

"Absolutely!" She went into her office and turned off the music. Tim sighed in relief. "Sorry about that. I usually turn it up louder when no one's around."

"No problem." Tim felt suddenly awkward. He felt so...plain and ordinary next to Abby and her Goth garb.

Abby grinned. "Let's go, and you can tell me all about yourself...if I let you get a word in edgewise while I talk about everything else."

Tim smiled back and gallantly held out his arm, making it clear that he wouldn't be hurt if she didn't take it. She laughed and hooked her arm through his.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim only saw the team occasionally over the next few months. He saw Abby more often. It was a long trip, but he enjoyed seeing her enough that it was worth it. He was really surprised when Tony called him up and asked him for help on a case. Tony hadn't seemed to like him all that much, but he still asked him for help. It made him feel good...even better because he could actually do what Tony wanted him to do. Tim couldn't help wondering if he'd passed his name around...or maybe Cassie, the other agent recently assigned to Norfolk, had mentioned him because it was only a few months after that he received a call from another team leader at NCIS, a Special Agent Pacci.

"Special Agent McGee speaking," Tim said, absently. He still had piles and piles of files to go through. He wondered who in the world had been in charge of this stuff before he came to make a dent in it. _Probably someone like Agent DiNozzo._

"Agent McGee, this is Special Agent Pacci from NCIS Headquarters. I need you to find me some files."

"Files?" Tim looked around. _Got plenty of those._

"From the Buford County Courthouse. I'm also faxing you a requisition form for some equipment I'll be needing. How long will it take you?" He was abrupt, but not rude.

"The files...well, that depends on how recent, how vital, how long it's been since they were..."

"Okay," Pacci cut him off. "I want them as soon as you can. Call me at 555-123-5837. That's my home number. I want to know the second you have what I need. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Thank you." Pacci hung up, leaving Tim staring at the phone. He felt slightly confused by the request. There must have been other people he could have asked to do that, but in the end, this was his job. He wouldn't get anywhere by being unwilling to work.

Three days later, he suddenly found himself TAD-ed to Gibbs' team...because Pacci had been murdered. Tim was shocked. It wasn't like his first dead body. This was an NCIS agent. It was his first true evidence that they were human...that they bled just like anyone else did. He also found himself cloistered with Tony on stakeout. That didn't go as badly as he had feared, but it was frightening just the same.

What was bad was that he actually told Tony something about himself...that he wrote mystery novels. He hadn't really meant to, but Tony was being all buddy-buddy about it, and Tim...well, he had to admit that he wanted to make another friend. Cynthia was nice, but...well, they both felt as though they had to act too formally around each other because of what he knew. He had talked to Jim the week before and he was requesting a transfer. He didn't like the San Diego office much. Tim was just starting to realize how nice it could be to have friends...and he wanted more of them. He just was so unsure of how to go about it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So, how are things going with Abby?" Jim asked.

Tim sighed. "They're not, I think."

"Why? What happened? Before I moved out here last week, you said things were great," Jim said.

"I thought they were, but last night, we went to this coffee house...and I messed up."

"How?"

"I told her I liked her. I guess she doesn't feel the same. She just said thanks," Tim said glumly. "Then, I asked where we were going and she didn't think we had to go anywhere."

Jim smiled. "You didn't mess up, Tim. You're just thinking about your relationship differently is all."

"But...I don't get it. I thought you were _supposed_ to like each other," Tim said. His phone started ringing. "Hello? Agent McGee."

"_McGee, it's Kate. We need you at NCIS. Gibbs wants you to come over and work with Abby on hacking into email servers."_

"With Abby?"

"_Yes. It's not a request, McGee."_

"Right. Okay. I'll be there." He hung up. "Do you need any help unpacking?" he asked Jim.

"No. I'm pretty much finished."

"Okay. I have to go and help out Gibbs again."

"I think you're over there more than you are at Norfolk."

Tim smiled. "I'm hoping to get onto the team. I have make myself available."

"Even with Tony and Abby?"

"Yeah. I _want_ to be over there. I'm trying to get out in the field."

"You'll make it."

"Thanks to you." Tim stood and paid for his lunch, then left.

That case ended up helping Tim make up with Abby. After it was over, he didn't want to go back to Norfolk. He wanted to stay...so he turned his attention to the terrorist that Gibbs had been obsessing over, knowing that would be the best way for him to help. He figured out a way to narrow down the search and spent half the night trying to set it up. Then, he spent the rest of the night with Abby...in what turned out to be her coffin. He couldn't decide if he was completely horrified or just mildly disturbed. Abby generally confused him anyway.

He tried and tried to do it, thinking that if he could only find the terrorist, he'd prove that he was good enough. Whenever Gibbs came to check, he was so...almost frightening that Tim found himself stammering even more than usual.

"Anything?" Gibbs asked.

_Oh, no! There he is!_ "Not yet. I thought I had a hit, but there weren't enough points," Tim admitted.

"Well, you trace it anyway, McGee," Gibbs ordered, his voice hard.

"I did. It's a biology teacher in Manchester. I spoke to him. Sorry."

"Stop apologizing. It's a sign of weakness."

_A sign of weakness? Isn't it just...?_ "Sorry," Tim said and then kicked himself. "Right."

Then, Kate was kidnaped by the terrorist...by Ari Haswari. Tim almost couldn't believe it when his idea actually worked. They found him. Ari Haswari...at the same time that they realized Kate had been kidnaped by him. Then, he wasn't a terrorist anymore. He was an Israeli spy. Things moved so quickly that Tim wasn't sure how it was that they all kept up with the details.

He found himself wandering into the break room where a couple of techs were talking about the important upgrades they were getting that weekend. They were geeks. He sat down and started chatting with them. He wasn't nervous. They talked about how important the upgrades were, how the process, once it started needed to be finished as quickly as possible because of the need for all the computers to be linked. Tim understood and offered to help if they needed him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When Tim came in to check on things...or rather to hope for something to keep him there...he found out that the contractors in charge of upgrading the network wouldn't do their jobs until the air conditioning was fixed. It was like a sweatshop in NCIS, and Tim looked around the empty office. They needed to have the networks upgraded. They needed this. This was something he could do to help. He looked around the bullpen. It would take hours.

"I'd better get started," he said and took off his jacket.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

He was under Kate's desk when she came in, but he didn't think anything of it until she was hovering over him. He was shocked to find himself staring up at her, trying to not look up her skirt. He wished she would back away another step or two. After she pulled him up by his ears, his only wish was to get far away from her. He almost missed Gibbs speaking to him. In his head, he was wondering why he wanted to work with these people when they kept torturing him like that.

"...why are you still here?" Gibbs demanded.

Tim gulped and forced his mind back onto the conversation. "Uh… th-the contractors – they won't wire the network until the air conditioning's fixed. I-I-It's a union thing so…"

"So you decided it's more important for an NCIS Special Agent to crawl around all day by yourself?"

Put like that it sounded pretty dumb.

"Man asked you a question," Tony interjected.

"I-I just...I wanted it fixed before I returned to Norfolk," Tim said. _Great, have I done the wrong thing again?_

"Yeah?" Gibbs asked, getting in his face. "You have any idea where thinking like this is going to lead you?"

"Yeah, do you, McGee?"

Tim racked his brains trying to think of what he could say to make things better.

"Promotion," Gibbs said and lightly thumped his chest. "You need any help you ask Tony here. He looks like he could use the workout."

Tim was so relieved that he actually delusionally thought Tony might really help him. "I-I-It's not that difficult." Tony's expression made him back pedal quickly. "So I-I guess I could do it myself."

"Good answer."

Throughout the rest of that day, Tim worked with Kate (he let her use him for a ladder and then fell off the roof), worked with Abby (got the first feeling that Gibbs was really going to kill him), went into Autopsy (worked on a table with bodily fluids on it...and tried not to be sick) and had Gibbs yell at him, cut him off and tell him to get to work or people would die. The worst and best moment was when they realized that the Grayson was going to kill Watson's wife.

"Captain Watson, you have to buy us a few more minutes. I repeat, you have to buy us a few more minutes!" Tim pleaded. "He's not listening to me."

"_Tell him the second he transfers that money his wife is dead,"_ Gibbs said over the radio.

_What if she dies? What if I can't do this? _"Captain Watson, your wife is going to be murdered..." Then, there was a squeal of feedback. "Ow! Okay, Gibbs. He took out the earwig. I've got nothing, Boss." _I failed._

He'd almost forgotten Abby until she spoke. "He's sending the money to Asia. If we can tag his transmission with a marker, we might be able to follow it."

Tim didn't care about the money for the moment. "Gibbs, he sent it. I think he's going to shoot her. What do I do?"

"_Something, McGee! Anything!"_

Tim's mind whirled a million revolutions per second and suddenly, a stupid idea flashed in his head. Before he could talk himself out of it, he spoke. "This is the FBI, Grayson. We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands in the air."

He heard Grayson swear...and saw him stop. He didn't shoot her. Abby looked at him in surprise.

"You didn't really think you'd get away with this?" Tim asked, trying to sound much more confident than he felt...and it worked. He hadn't failed. When they found out that Watson had arranged for his own family's abduction, however, Tim felt ill. He couldn't decide if it was worse than what his own father had done...then, he thought about how his own father was going to sell him. How could he decide which was worse? Both made him sick to his stomach. To take his mind off it, he finished the networking. There was no other reason for him to stay.

"Your network is up and operational now. So I'll be heading back to Norfolk." No one said anything. _Figures._ "I'll take that as a thank you."

"McGee, where are you going?" Gibbs asked, making one of his sudden appearances.

"Uh… Norfolk." _Where else would I be going? You've been telling me to leave for the last week._

"Well, I've got some good news and some bad news for you. You've just been promoted to a full time field agent." Gibbs held up a file.

Tim couldn't believe it. It was what he wanted...and he _had_ it! "Really?! That's incredible! What's–?"

"You belong to me now."

Kate and Tony both came up to him.

"Congratulations," Kate said.

Tony smirked. "Yeah. What she said."

"So I'm one of you guys now, right?" Tim asked. "No more… no more getting coffee. No more hazing."

"Sure."

"Right. Uh… well I just want to say uh…that I never took it personal and I really look forward to–" Before he could finish, the two of them simultaneously slapped him on the back of the head. Hard. He couldn't decide how to react to that.

"You know, I could really get used to that," Tony said.

Tim stood there, the good feeling fading a little bit. Then, there was a click and the air conditioning came back on. Everyone cheered.

Tim looked up and sighed. In spite of all that, he had what he wanted.

_I'm where I should be._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Field Agent**

There were definite ups and downs to being an agent on Gibbs' team. First and foremost was Tony. He rarely called Tim by his name, first _or_ last. It was Probie. Or McGeek. Or Probilicious even. It was a sign of things being relatively serious when a _McGee_ came from his lips. Then, there were the headslaps. The first time it happened to him, Tim had a flash...but he was old enough now not to overreact to it. He had also seen it happen to Tony many..._many_ times. It wasn't really a punishment as such. At least, that's what Tim tried to tell himself to keep himself from cringing.

Then, of course, there were the bumps along the way of learning and getting used to his job...and the people he worked with. Tony was annoying, but Tim soon learned that Tony knew what he was doing and he had things to teach Tim...if only he'd be a little nicer about it. Kate was like having an older sister. She teased him like Tony did, but usually, she was nicer...usually.

The first major bump was more personal than professional. Tim lost his first friend. He had been so happy to see Cynthia again when she showed up at the crime scene at Norfolk. He hadn't seen her for a while, hadn't even had a chance to tell her about his transfer. He'd been distracted by Ducky's obsession with the case, rewiring Abby's hotbox, and all the other duties he had, but he couldn't help thinking that maybe they could get together again and catch up. What surprised him was Abby's obvious jealousy when Cynthia came down to the lab. Tim tried to smooth the way, but Abby wasn't having it.

Not wanting two of his friends (one more than a friend) to be on opposite sides, Tim whispered, "Yeah. Abby's under a lot of pressure."

Cynthia seemed to understand. "What are you doing to the note?" she asked Abby.

No good. "Are you writing a book?" Abby returned.

"I'm just interested, Ma'am."

"Looking for prints."

Tim jumped in to explain. He loved explaining. He still loved that he knew enough to be _able_ to explain. "The fumes are from heated super glue. In its gaseous form, its bonding capabilities enable us to obtain fingerprints."

"Nothing."

Cynthia could tell she'd worn out her welcome...which hadn't been all that warm to start with. "Well, I'd better get back to Norfolk. Thanks for letting me observe, Ma'am."

"Anytime. Look, not anytime. Sometime. Maybe."

Cynthia smiled at Tim. "Good seeing you again, Special Agent McGee."

Tim smiled back. "Likewise, Petty Officer Cluxton." He watched her leave.

As soon as she was out the door, Abby asked, "So are you two that formal when you're exchanging bodily fluids?"

Tim was almost hurt by that, but he reminded himself that Abby didn't know Cynthia was gay...and it wasn't up to him to tell her, even if it _would_ make things better. Then, almost at once it seemed, Tim realized that Harlan Wilson, even if it was his semen, was innocent of this murder...and it hurt him to realize who it was. It was an instinctive leap, supplemented by information he already knew.

"She's the one," Tim said, feeling sick.

Tony, not understanding his feeling, asked, "Well, how can you tell? She's not even near the refrigerator."

"His gut," Gibbs said.

That was flattering, but... "No, no, no. It's not just my gut, Boss," Tim said, wishing he was alone so he could cry...or throw something. "When I was back at Norfolk, Cynthia, Petty Officer Cluxton and I… we were friendly."

"Really?" Abby said. Tim wanted to ignore her.

"Abby," Gibbs warned.

"She liked me… but not that way."

"What way would that be, Probie?"

There was no keeping the secret now. "I didn't ask, Tony, and she didn't tell."

"Cluxton's gay? Boss, we I.D.ed Janice Santos in a lesbian bar."

Now, was the information he hadn't thought of before. "There's more. Petty Officer Cluxton used her mother's name. Her father was an NCIS agent before…"

Gibbs finished for him. "Special Agent Dawes."

"Boss, I didn't think about this until… I think that's her!"

"That's okay," Gibbs said. "Run the tape."

It was horrible, awful. His friend. Cynthia was a murderer. He had befriended a murderer. It wasn't enough to tell himself that she hadn't been a murderer when they had been friends before. His father hadn't been an abuser before he was married either, more than likely. Tim felt literally sick. Everyone left that evening, but he stayed. He sat at his desk and tried to think of why this had happened..._how_ this had happened. How was it possible that his _friend_ had become a murderer?

_Would this have happened if I was still at Norfolk? Would she have confided in me instead of killing Santos? If it did happen and I was still there...would they have found her?_ Tim's mind was not a good place to be at that moment as he tried to hold back the tears. He didn't want to go to his apartment. He wanted to stay here where things were just and right.

"McGee? What are you doing here still?"

Tim jumped and felt his shoulders hunch a little. It was Gibbs.

"N-Nothing, Boss. Just...just finishing up some things."

"Finish up on Monday," Gibbs said, looking at him carefully.

Tim wasn't sure if his history was available to Gibbs...his made up history. He had no desire to discuss it, however.

"Are you all right, McGee?"

Tim stared at him for a few seconds. "Why?" he asked and flushed a little at the plaintive note in his voice. "Why would she do that?"

"Jealousy. She was hurt."

"She was my friend, Boss." Tim knew he would feel embarrassed about this later, but he wanted, no he _needed_ to understand. "She was a good person. How could she–?"

"Become a murderer? Emotions do that to some people. Haven't you ever been angry enough to kill?"

"No." It was true. He hated his father, but his father was already dead. Sharp still terrified him. He had spent too much time being afraid to get angry enough to kill.

"When you have, you'll understand."

"When?"

"It happens to everyone at one time or another, McGee. What matters is what you do when that happens."

Tim nodded and left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was right...as usual. Time went on, and Tim forgot about the conversation. He started to see more and more of the people of the world who were as evil or more evil than his father and Sharp had been. Even people on his own side were sometimes corrupt. One of his idols turned out to be crooked, willing to frame an innocent man just for money.

He stood in observation watching. "I don't believe it."

Tony didn't understand the depth of Tim's sorrow. "Sorry, Probie. I felt the same way when I found out professional wrestling was fake."

"But he was going to frame an innocent man just for the reward?"

"It's all about the Benjamins."

"Sometimes," Tim agreed. "Not always." He stared through the glass. Would every person he admired become tarnished like this? Was no one he cared for moral anymore?

That night, he had called Jim and spent a while decompressing from it. Tim knew it wasn't healthy to put people on pedestals, but he couldn't help it. He wanted the world to be divided into the good and the bad...no crossing the lines.

Then, he met Erin Kendall. She was like him...only less nervous. There was an instant connection between them. Tim couldn't explain it. It had never happened to him before. Abby got jealous...again. They weren't even dating, but she still got jealous. Tim didn't understand that, but he decided not to worry about it for the moment. He didn't even seem to have time to figure it out. As he sat in Thorne's apartment, he talked to Erin on the phone. It was so easy to tell her things.

"_Well, I'm fascinated. You have multiple degrees, including computer science from MIT. How did you end up a federal agent?" _Erin asked. Tim couldn't see her, but he could tell she was smiling.

"Ah..." Tim hadn't ever admitted this to anyone at NCIS...but Erin invited confidences. "...it was by design. I always wanted to be in law enforcement."

Erin laughed. _"I never thought I'd be talking like this with someone who carries a gun."_

Tim suddenly, for the first time ever in his life, wanted to tell her about himself...all of it...but he didn't get the chance. Erin heard something. Someone broke into her apartment. When she started screaming, Tim panicked.

"Don't hang up! I'm coming!" he said and ran, ran as fast as he could. _I have to help her. I have to save her._

He didn't. Erin died. She was dead before he even got into the room...and to make matters worse, Tim didn't even get to stop her killer. He was so concerned with saving Erin that he didn't think about procedures. He didn't think about what he was supposed to do. One thought was running through his head: _I have to help Erin!_ But he didn't.

After he was hypnotized and realized who the murderer was, he finally understood what Gibbs had meant about being angry enough to kill someone. He chased Jeremy down. When he stood over him, his gun pointed at him, he was ready to pull the trigger. For the first time, he didn't think about what the right thing to do was, he was _angry_. He was so angry that he was ready to kill Jeremy right there in the street and who cared about witnesses.

"McGee!" Gibbs shouted.

Tim only barely acknowledged him. _He should die. He deserves to die. He's a killer. He deserves to die._

"If you're going to shoot him, you should have done _while _he was running!" Gibbs warned.

There was a moment when Tim wanted to tell Gibbs what he could do with that piece of advice, but then, he realized what he was about to do...kill a man in cold blood. He would be like his father then, like Sharp. That thought was like dousing himself in ice water. He backed off.

That evening, when Gibbs congratulated him on his report, Tim looked up and saw the understanding. He tried to forget the awful feeling, the anger. Grief was okay. Grief was to be expected, but not that anger.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Grief was with him for a long time as it turned out. Only a few months later, Tony nearly died of the plague. That was hard. He wasn't sure how anything could be worse...but he was wrong. Kate died, a bullet through her skull. It was like losing a family member. Tim thought that and realized that it was nothing less than the truth. He looked on NCIS as an extension of his family. Gibbs was the father he'd never had. Tony and Kate were his siblings. He hadn't really known Pacci, and he hadn't seen him dead, but he knew Kate...and it was hard to go down and see her. He kept seeing her face all over the place. The worst was opening a filing cabinet and seeing her body there, asking him to come and see her. He didn't want to. He didn't want to say good-bye to her. The only person he'd lost was Cynthia...and that had been bad enough when she wasn't dead. Kate was dead. Dead.

They all muddled through the month that followed Kate's funeral. Tim tried really hard to find his equilibrium again. They almost lost Paula to the lawyer of a serial killer. It was more important than ever that she survive...not just because she was a friend, a colleague...but because they couldn't handle losing someone else.

Instead of losing, they gained. Ziva David, Mossad operative and Ari Haswari's control officer. Tim wasn't sure what to think of her at first. He was afraid of her, not because he thought she might die, too, but because she oozed danger from every pore...and yet, he was drawn to her for reasons he couldn't have put into words. It wasn't sexual. It wasn't an attraction. She was pretty, no denying that, but it was more than that. She was...she _needed_ something. He wasn't sure what it was, but he decided that there was no reason to blame her for what Ari had done. She seemed to feel the acceptance from him because she asked him questions, invited him to dinner. Tim thought that she might be another friend...a dangerous one, but a friend nonetheless.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim realized, partly from his interactions with Ziva, that he'd never really fired on anyone. There was the terrorist from just before Ari had shot Kate, but he hadn't even really seen him. It was just a reaction...and he'd missed. He'd drawn his gun many times, but he hadn't killed anyone. There was no way he could have gone on like that, and he didn't give it much thought, but there came the moment when he actually shot someone.

Tim walked out of the garage to check the exit. The alley, which was supposed to be empty, was not. There was a car...and a man arguing. He identified himself and then he saw a flash. They were shooting at him! He fired back. That was procedure. The man fell to the ground and the car drove away. He ran over. The man was dead.

_I killed him,_ Tim thought. He couldn't believe it. Tony treated it like some great success, but Tim couldn't think beyond the fact that he had actually taken a life. Then, it got worse. Abby ran his prints. When they saw the results, Tim felt himself die inside.

Gibbs could see it as soon as they got into the bullpen. "What's wrong?"

"I ran the fingerprint through AFIS. The victim's real name is John Benedict," Abby said, not wanting to say the words.

Gibbs still didn't get it. "Has he got a record?"

Tim wasn't sure how he could say it, but he did anyway. "He was a Metro detective. He was working undercover. I killed a cop, Boss." _It's like I shot Nick. I killed a cop._ Tim could hardly think beyond those two sentences. Over and over they repeated in his head. He had killed a cop. His role model, the person he looked up to more than anyone else in the world was a cop...and it was as if he had killed him.

Nothing anyone could say could remove the horror Tim felt at his actions. When they found out that Archer was a dirty cop, Gibbs took Tim along. Tim didn't want to go. He didn't want to face down another cop. It didn't matter that he was dirty. It mattered that he was a cop, like Nick...like Benedict had been. Even when Archer drew his weapon, Tim couldn't shoot him. He couldn't do it. Gibbs didn't understand why, and he was understandably angry about it, but Tim couldn't tell and he didn't fire.

When they got back, he waited for Abby...but she couldn't help him. She couldn't tell him if he had done it, if he had actually killed Benedict. Tim couldn't handle it. He went home that night and wrote a letter. He needed to confess it...but not to a priest. To Nick. He hadn't cried when anyone else was around, but now, the tears ran down his cheeks as he wrote the words.

_I'm a murderer!_

After he finished writing, he mailed it to the WPP center. It was so hard to know what he had done. He had killed someone. While he waited for a response, he couldn't focus on anything. He started to understand why Tony made jokes. It was easier to pretend that nothing was wrong...particularly when he couldn't tell them _why_ he was so deeply affected by it.

A couple of weeks later, he got his response.

_Tim,_

_I'm so sorry for what happened. That's terrible...but it's not your fault. These kinds of things happen and they're hard to get over...but you have to. You can't blame yourself. Your boss is right. You reacted as you should have based on the information you had at the time. You know the rules and regs for these kinds of things. I have no doubt that you memorized them. It's not the same. Yes, I'm a cop, but you did _not_ kill me. I would have done the same thing. I would have fired. Now, I can't be there, but you have to know that I would be if I could. _

_So, my advice, from a distance, is for you to calm down. Breathe deeply. Think about this logically. You're good at that. You made a mistake, but it's a mistake any person in your place would have made. Whether you killed him or not, you are not a murderer. Say it to yourself every night if you have to. You are _not_ a murderer._

_Not everything is life is so easily discerned as you want it to be, Tim. People can make mistakes and still be good people. Don't let this tear you apart. You're too good a person for that._

_Nick_

It was what he needed. Tim had needed to know that Nick didn't despise him for what he had done...and knowing Nick still thought he was good made all the difference. He took a deep breath and plunged back into his work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim still made mistakes, lots of them. It seemed like every time he figured out one thing, he'd mess up somewhere else. When he did things right, it seemed like no one was there to see him in action...which was probably part of the reason he didn't mess up in the first place...but slowly, slowly, he began to feel more and more confident. He was doing things right. He was doing what he wanted to do...in more ways than one. He had found a publisher for his book, _Deep Six_. It should be hitting shelves in weeks. He'd already started plotting out the first chapters of a sequel. Sarah was attending Waverly University and they hung out quite a bit. Life was working for him. Working well...but just as he thought that he was settled, Gibbs left. He couldn't believe that Gibbs would leave. It wasn't right...but he couldn't define why. He didn't dare say that it wasn't right because Gibbs had been blown up. He had suffered from amnesia. It had been hard...and worse when he was hit full in the face with the worst side of politics. Still, it was wrong.

...and selfishly, Tim felt as though he was losing his father. It was silly because Gibbs didn't treat him that way. Tim had never intimated that kind of feeling either...partly because Gibbs was still intimidating, but mostly because it wasn't exactly accurate. Gibbs _wasn't_ his father. ...but he was important. Tim missed him...almost like a friend.

Working under Tony wasn't as bad as Tim had thought it would be. Actually, if he was honest, Tony was great to work under. He didn't lose his sense of humor, but he was more serious. There were things Tim didn't like, but mostly, he enjoyed it. It was hard for Tim to figure out his position, however. He started trying to act like Tony did...only himself, too. He wasn't very good at it.

Then, Gibbs came back. He was there and gone and then there again...and he stayed. The old order was reasserted. Part of Tim regretted it...a small part, but a part nonetheless. Tony was a good leader...but he wasn't Gibbs. Tim couldn't figure that out. Even after his years at NCIS, he wasn't so good at social nuances.

Instead of thinking about it, he just accepted it...little knowing that soon enough all the order that reigned in his life would be destroyed once more...

...and this time, it would come from his side.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Falling Apart**

One of the hardest things about being at NCIS and forming such tight bonds with his team was the need to hide things. Tim realized it when random questions about their lives came up. Ziva didn't answer for good reason, but Tim was supposed to be the one with the boring life. It hadn't been spoken of directly, but Tim could tell that's what Tony thought of him. He was in no rush to disabuse him of that notion either. What good would it do to tell Tony that, contrary to what he assumed, Tim's life had not been one of blissful geekitude?

It was just easier to go along and to try to keep his family and his history away from work. Mostly he succeeded, but Tony and Kate had almost met Sarah when they had invaded his apartment one Sunday morning. He had been relieved that no one had thought anything of it. When Tony had come over to try and cheer him up after he had shot Benedict, Tim had been afraid that he'd find the ratty sweatshirt he still had in his closet. Nick didn't even know that he'd kept it, but although the KSU was wearing away, Tim kept it in a place of honor as the first present he'd ever received.

All those things faded, however, when Sarah showed up at his door, covered in blood, saying that she had killed someone. He was terrified. He didn't know what to do. He knew what to do as an NCIS agent, but he couldn't let his little sister be arrested. He had to protect her. His fears only grew when she came out of the shower the next morning.

"Tim, that's not funny!" Sarah said, opening the door.

"You don't remember saying that? How much did you have to drink?" Tim asked, sounding more angry than he actually was. The anger covered up the fear.

Sarah knew how he felt about it, knew how Joan felt about it. "Nothing! I'm under twenty-one, remember?"

"Really? Because your fake I.D. says you're twenty-two. How much?" Tim couldn't believe he was seeing her in this situation again. After all that their father had done...

"Okay, I had a few drinks."

_No! No, Sarah! Why?_ "Sarah, do you remember what happened the last time you had 'a few' drinks?" Tim asked. Inside, he was afraid that Sarah was turning into their father. A drunk, an abusive drunk.

"No."

"That's the point! You can't drink!" Tim said. They did the whole back and forth thing and Tim knew they needed to call someone. It was his job...but...

"Sarah, I'm a federal agent. I have a responsibility!"

"Tim, I didn't come to a federal agent," Sarah said, and she looked at him with that desperation that he couldn't resist. "I came to my big brother."

Tim hated what he was doing, but he felt pulled in two different directions. On the one hand, there was the job he loved, the job he had put so much effort into getting and keeping. On the other hand was Sarah. His sister. He had done so much to keep her happy when they were kids. He couldn't abandon her now.

So he lied...and hoped that everything would work out because he hated lying to his friends...to Gibbs.

It didn't work out, not like he had hoped, i.e. that no one would find out. Sarah was implicated in the murder of a sailor...the sailor who had dumped her. Tim was more afraid that Sarah really _had_ done it, that she was a murderer, that there was something to the theory of people passing on abusive natures. Logically, he didn't, but when he realized that the blood on Sarah's hands had been human blood, when he realized that it was entirely possible based on the evidence and worse when Gibbs ordered him to the elevator for a dressing down, he was afraid...and he knew that he had to try and protect her as much as he could, like he always had.

So, when Gibbs asked what he was thinking, Tim forced himself not to back down.

"I would apologize, but I know how you feel about that," Tim said quietly.

He'd been expecting it, and he barely flinched when Gibbs flipped the switch. "You got your voice back."

"I never lost it," Tim said, stating the obvious.

Gibbs was obviously not impressed. "No kidding!"

Tim didn't know what to do, but he wouldn't take back what he did. "I know withholding evidence is a violation of NCIS policy."

"And a crime! One that I don't really care about. Why didn't you come to me?"

_To you? Personally?_ "I was going to. When I saw the body, I knew I had to bring Sarah in," Tim said, admitting his fault.

"No! Before that."

Tim couldn't tell Gibbs why it was so important. He couldn't tell him about the evenings spent in the closets, the pain he'd suffered trying to hide Sarah. He couldn't explain the _need_ to protect her...but he tried. "I couldn't take the chance," Tim said, wanting Gibbs to understand, even if he didn't have all the information. "I don't know what my sister did or didn't do. But I know what it looked like. And we say, 'better ten guilty men go free than one innocent get punished,' but I know from experience it doesn't always work out like that. I couldn't take that chance with Sarah, not with the police, not with NCIS, not even with you." _Please, understand what I'm not saying._ "She's my sister."

Gibbs didn't say anything at first. They stood staring at each other in silence. Then, Gibbs said softly, without anger, "Apology accepted," and turned on the elevator once more.

Sarah revealing _Deep Six_ to the team was forgotten momentarily when Tim saw the evidence mounting against her. He resigned...sort of when the Director accused him of forgetting what he owed to NCIS. How could he forget that? NCIS was what defined him...but family meant more. It always had. He sat in the bullpen, forced to wait while Gibbs interrogated his sister. Every fiber of his being was screaming for him to run down there and pull her away from anyone who might hurt her. _What will Mom say if something happens to Sarah?_

Every lingering doubt he might have had about Sarah's guilt or innocence disappeared when Abby came and revealed that Sarah had been drugged. Tim ran down to observation and when he saw Sarah crying, he forgot about the rule for not interrupting Gibbs in interrogation. He would face down someone a lot scarier than Gibbs for Sarah.

"Sarah doesn't know what she's saying," Tim said.

Gibbs seemed more resigned than angry at this point. "McGee."

"Boss, she was drugged. Abby has proof."

For the second time, Tim survived interrupting Gibbs in interrogation.

"Stay with her."

Immediately, Tim knelt in front of Sarah. "Hey. Hey."

Sarah was sobbing. "I remember the knife. I remember Jeff lying there."

"Oh, no, no, no, no. My little sister could never kill anyone." He hugged her tightly, not seeing her as the daughter of his father, but as his little sister...another person who wasn't perfect but was still good.

After that, keeping his personal life personal became more and more difficult. There were simply things that couldn't be hidden forever...but he tried. The only person he didn't try with was Jim. Contrary to what he had claimed, Jim finally got lucky with the girls and Tim was invited to the wedding.

"So...Tim, when are you going to join the ranks?" Jim asked in a brief moment.

"No time soon, Jim," Tim said and winked at his bride. "I think you got the best of them right here. I don't know why she lowered herself."

"I couldn't resist his pathetic puppy-dog face," she said, grinning.

For whatever reason, while he could be completely open with Jim, he couldn't be that way with his team.

"How much did Franks know?" Tim asked.

Ziva shrugged. "Not enough to save his son."

"Maybe not much at all. You ever tell your dad what you were up to, Probie?"

Tim's mouth opened to answer even as his brain was saying, _Only if I was in the mood for a beating._ What came out, however, was the lie Tony was expecting: "Every day."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I've been lying to everyone, Jim," Tim said a few days later.

"Lying about what?" Jim asked. He was based in the Pentagon...on Paula's team, as a matter of fact, and they got together as often as they could.

"My past."

"Why? Do you think they'd think any less of you?"

"No...but Jim...I've been lying to you, too."

Jim sat back, a look of confusion on his face. "What? You weren't really abused?"

"No, I was...but..." Tim hesitated. No one was supposed to know about it, even twenty years after the fact...but Jim had been his friend for five years. He'd never tell anyone if Tim told him not to. He'd kept Tim's abusive past a secret without any urging. "...you can't tell anyone about this."

"About what, Tim? You know I won't, if you don't want me to."

Tim looked around...no one was close by. "I was abused, but when that happened, my name wasn't Tim. It was Toby. My father was a drug dealer...and he had arranged to sell me to one of his buyers. I saw him gunned down in front of me, and I'm the only witness to both my father's murder and to a bunch of drug deals that went down over twenty years ago."

"Wow."

"My family and I have been in Witness Protection since I was ten years old."

"I have to say, Tim, that I never would have guessed."

"You're not supposed to. That's the point."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because...I need to tell someone, and I trust you."

"For what?"

"Not to say anything...to anyone. Ever."

"You have my word, Tim." Jim smiled. "I'm flattered that you trust me that much."

"I'd trust you with my life...I am actually."

"Well, your life is good hands," Jim said and grinned. "I haven't screwed up yet."

Only three days later...Jim was dead. Tim's closest friend, his first real friend. The only person who knew the truth. Tim couldn't help feeling he had killed Jim by telling him.

When they were at the store, looking at their bodies, Tim's eyes were drawn to Jim's corpse.

Ducky noticed. "You knew him."

Tim nodded. "He was a good friend of mine. I hate seeing him like this. It's almost like…"

"It could have been you."

"It almost was, McGee," Gibbs said as he came back inside. "We were supposed to work the hotline this weekend."

Tony was shocked. "Boss, you're serious about that?"

The investigation went on, but all Tim could hear was Gibbs telling him that they were supposed to be in that store. They were supposed to be dead. Jim had only just gotten married. Jim was happy. Jim was _whole_. He shouldn't have died. It would have been far better for Tim to have died in his place. In desperation, Tim crept down to the only other close friend he had...someone who knew so much less about him than Jim did.

He sat quietly on the floor and listened to Abby work. He didn't need to talk. He just wanted to be near her.

"McGee? Is that you? How long have you been sitting there?"

"Not long." Tim didn't want to talk, not really.

"I'm really… sorry about Jim Nelson. I know you guys were really close."

"I wouldn't have graduated from FLETC without his help," Tim said, thinking back to that first night at the gun range.

"Then, we would have never met," Abby said, smiling a little.

"Or maybe he'd still be alive. We were supposed to take the weekend shift. Those bodies downstairs should be us," Tim said, wanting to cry. _Why Jim? Why not me?_

"Timothy, don't even think things like that, okay? Everything happens for a reason," Abby said firmly and leaned down to hug him.

They were interrupted by Gibbs and Paula coming in. "I'm not even going to ask," Gibbs said.

Abby was still more than willing to explain. "Um, technically that was a squatting hug, or a 'squg,' if you will. But I digress."

"Yeah, big time."

Comforting was over and Tim stood up. "I have some paperwork to do," he said and fled. He found some solace in focusing on getting the guys who had killed Jim and Rick...but in the end it wasn't enough because Paula died as well...protecting everyone else. An entire team gone in one fell swoop. The grief was hard to bear. He had no one else he could talk to...how could he? The one person he had told was dead. While he knew that it was illogical to think that this had anything to do with his past, his mind didn't really care about illogic. It cared about the fact that Jim was dead...another lost friend.

Then, Abby almost died...because of him. He had been considering telling her something about himself...not all, just a bit more than he had, but after Landon tried to kill her, thinking she was Amy Sutton in _Rock Hollow_, he forgot that idea. Tim was beginning to think he was a jinx. Anyone he cared about was in danger of dying. He would never tell anyone anything about himself again. He couldn't have more people dying because of him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The fates conspired against him...as they always did.

Tim checked his email and saw that he was supposed to take a polygraph. Dread. It didn't matter what he told himself. He had to know whether or not he could pass a polygraph with the life he had lived over the last twenty years.

He picked up his phone. "Abby? I need your help."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, strapped to a chair with Abby telling him how she had built her own polygraph, Tim was beginning to wonder.

"Stop acting like a Nazi and come over here and scratch my nose, please." Abby did, but with a pair of tweezers...and it hurt.

"McGee, stop being such a baby. Name."

"Timothy McGee, no middle initial."

"Have you ever used an alias?" Abby asked.

"Does a _nom de plume_ count?"

"It does."

"Thom E. Gemcity."

"Any other names?"

_Other names?_ "No." He knew he had failed as soon as he said it. He could feel his body start to tense up.

"No?"

"No," Tim said more forcefully.

"Okay, either you or my polygraph is lying and since this is a machine, it can't lie, so..."

"HAL lied through his chips," Tony said as he came in.

Tim stopped paying attention. _How can I get out of this? I can't tell the truth...and I can't lie._

Then, he heard Abby spouting off the pseudo-reason he had given her, that he panicked taking tests, ever since kindergarten when he couldn't erase his mistakes. That was another lie.

"Tony, it isn't funny. Retaining my special agent status is dependent upon passing this polygraph." _And it looks as though I'm going to fail._

"This is definitely a lie," Ziva said, pointing to the reading.

"What did you ask him?" Tony asked.

"His name," Abby said.

"You lied about your name," Ziva said in surprise.

"No. Timothy McGee is my legal name. Thom E. Gemcity is my pen name. I don't have any other names," Tim lied. _Not that I'm going to tell you at least._

Gibbs unexpectedly saved him. "Probie."

"Yeah, Boss."

"And Elflord. Two other names," Gibbs said. "Why are you torturing McGee?"

Tim pointed out that they all had to take a polygraph, and Gibbs left. Tim knew that he needed to tell Gibbs...something. He wasn't sure what, but if he was going to survive this polygraph with his job intact, he needed to tell him something. When Abby freed him from the machinery and Gibbs returned from wherever he had gone, Tim approached him.

"Boss?"

"What, McGee?"

"I need to talk to you."

"So, talk."

"In private."

Gibbs looked up. "Is this important?"

"Yeah, Boss. I think it is."

"Okay. Let's go." Gibbs stood up and walked to the elevator. To Tim's surprise, he didn't stop the elevator, but instead led him out of NCIS and down to the docks. "This is about the polygraphs, I take it?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I can't take a polygraph, Boss."

"Yeah, I heard. You get nervous about tests."

"No. That's not it. I mean, I do get nervous, but what I told Abby was a lie. That's why I can't take the polygraph."

"Because you lied to Abby?"

"Because they'll ask me questions that I'll have to lie about...that I _have_ lied about for a long time."

"What kinds of questions?"

"I can't tell you that, Boss."

Gibbs blinked. "Have you lied to _me_, McGee?"

"Yes, Boss. I have."

"For how long?"

"Five years."

"That's as long as I've known you."

"Yes, Boss."

"And I take it you've been lying to everyone else as well?"

"Yes, Boss."

"And you won't tell me why?"

"I can't."

"Is there anyone you _haven't_ lied to?"

"One person outside my family. He's dead."

"Who was that?"

"Jim Nelson."

"No one else?"

"No."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you have to know why it is that I'm going to fail my polygraph...why I'm going to get fired. I can't tell you the truth. I can't even tell you what I'm lying about, but you have to know that there's a reason for it. It's not just because of some sort avoidance on my part. There's a reason, a good reason."

"How far back does this lie go?"

"Twenty years."

"You've been lying to people for twenty years?"

"Yeah, Boss. I thought it wouldn't ever be an issue, but because _I_ know that I'm lying, I won't be able to pass this polygraph on Monday."

"Is that it, McGee?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"Okay." Gibbs walked away.

Tim hadn't really expected an answer...what was there to say? He looked out on the Anacostia River and wondered if this was the last time he'd get to look at it as a special agent.

It wasn't. Gibbs called him in, didn't say a word about their earlier conversation, and put him to work. They found out who ordered the polygraphs, but then, it didn't even matter. They found out that Tony had been undercover, that Jenny had sent him undercover to find La Grenouille...and then, they thought he might have died. It was terrible watching his car blow up and thinking that he was dead. Tim thought that he had lost yet another friend...but he refused to give into that until Ducky verified it, and he didn't. It wasn't Tony who had died in the car.

At the end of the day...or rather the beginning of the next day, La Grenouille had disappeared again and things seemed to be back to normal.

...or they would have been back to normal, but for a newscast that Tim caught that evening, just before everyone left.

"In the worst prison break the Menard Correctional Facility has ever seen, twenty inmates escaped from custody, killing three guards and wounding another five."

Tim had been basking in the downtime, but now, his attention was all on the news.

"Authorities are not giving the details of the men who escaped, but they have given a list. They should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you see any of them, call police and do not attempt to make contact with them."

Names and photos began to scroll across the screen. Tim's breath caught.

"Alexander Sharp." Tim stared at the image as it continued off the screen. Even after it was gone, he couldn't move. The man he had testified against had escaped from prison.

_You're mine. Never forget that._

"Hey, Probie! Miss me?"

Tim didn't hear Tony's falsely pleasant greeting. He wasn't hearing anything...or seeing anything. The news had moved on, although they'd certainly come back to it again...and again...and again. He couldn't move. Waves of pure terror swept through him.

Almost on cue, his cell started to ring. Tim jumped a mile and answered it, still ignoring Tony who was now looking at him in concern.

"_Tim? Did you see?"_

"Yeah. I saw. What do we do?"

"_I'm calling our contact right after this. I'll let you know. He doesn't know anything about us. After twenty years...would he really come after us again?"_

"I don't know. I don't know."

"_I'll call Sarah. She doesn't usually watch the news. Just keep your cell phone handy."_

"Always."

"_I love you, Tim."_

"Love you, too." Tim hung up and then jumped another mile when Tony touched his arm.

"McGee, what's wrong?"

"Tony, don't do that."

"Do what? Talk to you?"

Tim suddenly realized that he had no idea when Tony had come in. He hadn't been paying any attention.

"Sneak up on me."

"I didn't sneak. You were nearly staring at me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Why would you think that anything is wrong?"

"Because while your skin rarely sees enough sun to gain any color, you currently would rival Count Dracula's pallor."

"I'm fine. There's nothing wrong."

"You're lying, McGee and you stink at it."

_Wait! I can't stay here. I have to go!_ "You're right, Tony. I think I'm getting sick. Tell Gibbs I left." Tim whirled around, grabbed his bag and ran for the elevator. Unfortunately, Gibbs happened to be on it.

"McGee, watch where you're going!" he snapped.

"Sorry, Boss," Tim said and tried to get around him.

"Wait, McGee. What's going on?"

"Nothing, Boss. I just have to go."

"Why?"

"I'm...not feeling very well," Tim said desperately. Then, his phone started to ring again. He couldn't ignore it, not right now. He stared at Gibbs who refused to let him on the elevator and answered. "Hello?"

"_Remember me?"_

"Oh..." Tim felt all the blood rush from his head. He hadn't heard that voice since he was fourteen years old.

"_Remember what I told you?"_

"No..." Tim knew that somewhere in another world Gibbs was still staring at him, that Tony had come over to the elevator, that he was in NCIS, but at that moment, he was ten years old, feeling Alexander Sharp bleed on him, hearing his voice.

"_You're mine. Never forget that."_

The phone dropped from Tim's hand and then, he slowly followed it to the floor.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Fault**

There was something strange going on. Tim could have sworn he was lying on the floor...but he had no memory of how he had gotten there. His legs and arms felt extremely heavy, like there were weights on them. When he tried to open his eyes, the room started spinning. _What happened?_

"McGee? Can you hear me?"

Tim thought about that. Yes, he could hear...whoever it was...but he wasn't sure he wanted to answer.

"Good gracious. What happened?"

"I don't know, Duck. He was talking on the phone and then he was on the ground."

"To whom was he speaking?"

"Don't know that either. Blocked caller. Hung up as soon as I started talking."

_Caller. Phone. Sharp!_ Tim opened his eyes and started trying to sit up.

"Hold it right there, Timothy. You're in no shape to be moving so quickly."

"No, I have to go. Ducky, please. I have to go," Tim insisted. Sharp knew who he was. He would know about Joan and about Sarah. He would know everything. How had he known? Then, suddenly, Tim knew and he hated himself. He hated every inch of himself. "Oh my gosh. This is all my fault. It's my fault." He didn't hear anything from anyone else. He felt tears on his face and wondered when he had started crying.

"McGee, calm down. What's your fault? Where do you have to go?"

Tim looked up at Gibbs and struggled to sit up again. "Where's my phone? I need my phone."

Gibbs knelt down and held it out. "Tim, what's wrong?"

Tim paid him no heed. Instead, he dialed. "Mom. He knows."

"_What?"_

Tim tried to pull himself out of Ducky's grip, but he was too weak. He felt as though he'd just run a marathon in ten minutes...or less.

"He _knows_. You have to get out. Now."

"_How could he?_"

"It's me. It's my fault. Mom, it's all my fault."

"_What do you mean, Tim?"_

"My books. He must have read them."

There was a dreadful silence. _"Tim...why didn't I think of that?"_

"Why didn't I? What have I done, Mom?"

"_How do you know that he knows?"_

"He called me. Just now."

"_The U.S. Marshalls are already on their way over here and there are some going to get Sarah...and you."_

"No."

"_Tim, now is not the time to be a hero. We have to hide."_

"I can't, Mom. This is my fault. What about Nick? What about the others?"

"_Tim! Listen to me. Let the Marshalls do their job."_

"It's _my_ job, too, Mom. I won't give it up. That's not what I do."

"_Tim!"_

Tim hung up the phone. "I have to go," he said again.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on, McGee," Gibbs said.

"No! I have to go." Tim surged to his feet in a burst of energy, but was prevented from leaving by Gibbs...again. "Boss, I have to. I can't stay."

"Why?"

Tim was still panicked. The one situation he had hoped would never occur was now happening.

"Because this is all my fault. Why did I use that name? There are hundreds, _thousands_ of other names I could have chosen. Why did I use that one? I could have killed my family. I spent my entire life trying to protect them and just because I was so _stupid_..."

"McGee!" Gibbs smacked Tim on the head. Tim barely noticed. "You're not making any sense. What is going on?"

"Nothing."

Tony actually snorted. "Right, McGee. You're about two seconds away from a meltdown and nothing is going on?"

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on, McGee. Is this about the polygraph?"

"No."

"Is it about what you wouldn't tell me on Friday?"

_Friday? Was it really so recent?_ "Yes."

Tim was taking heaving breaths, but he finally looked at Gibbs and started talking. It wasn't a calm explanation like he had done for Jim. It was spoken quickly, in a panic, in desperation.

"My name's not McGee. I was born in Chicago, and my name was Toby McGregor."

"You mean–?" Tony asked.

Tim didn't hear. "My father beat me...and my mother. He was a drug dealer. I was ten when he was going to sell me to his buyers...to Alexander Sharp."

"That guy who just escaped from prison?"

"I testified against him when I was thirteen, and again at his appeal a year later. I've been in the Witness Protection Program since I was ten. And...now..." Tim began pacing back and forth. "Now, because I'm an idiot, because I didn't bother to _think_ for two seconds...now, he knows where I am. He knows who I am. He knows about my family. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself. What was I thinking?" Tim stopped. "Oh, no. What about Nick? What if he goes after him, too? What have I done? He would have watched the news. He would have. He wouldn't miss that." Forgotten was the need for silence, the need for calm and order. Tim had never shown such a lack of control before...but all he was thinking about was the fact that his actions could kill everyone he loved.

"My dad was right. I am too _stupid_ to live," Tim spat out. Tears were still pouring down his cheeks, but he didn't notice them. He didn't notice that Ziva was watching him in surprise, that Ducky was trying to calm him down enough to get the pressure cuff off his arm, that Gibbs was saying _something_, that Tony had his hands out...ready to catch him if he collapsed again. All he noticed was the consequences of what he had done. "I never thought...I can't believe..."

Gibbs grabbed him by the shoulders. "McGee! Stop!"

Tim was still babbling even as he stopped moving. "No, I have to go!"

"Where?"

Tim stared at him for a few seconds. "I...I d-d-don't know," he stuttered. His shoulders hunched and his head dropped. He began to sob. "I don't know."

"McGee! You need to calm down! Just stop."

"Boss...I've killed them," Tim wept. He brought a fist up to his head.

"Tim, no one has died."

"Everyone who knows dies," Tim whispered through his tears. "I was going to tell Erin. She died. Kate died. I told Jim. He died. I was going to tell Abby. She almost died. If I stay here, you'll die, too."

"No, Tim. You didn't kill them. It had nothing to do with you. You need to start _thinking_."

It was silent in the hallway. No one spoke. The only sound was Tim trying to calm down. He didn't feel like an agent. He felt like a child with the monsters after him again. Gibbs was still holding him by the shoulders. Tim suddenly noticed that he had, at some point, dropped his fist from his head and now his left hand was holding his right wrist in a tight grip. Gibbs shook him gently.

"Tim, just calm down. Okay? Take a deep breath and calm down. If we're going to get this guy, we need to know what you know."

"W-We?" Tim stammered.

"Yes. We. Now, first, who's Nick?"

Tim was still nearly hyperventilating, but his breathing was slowing down.

"Who is Nick, McGee?"

"Nicholas Carson," Tim whispered. "He...the night my dad died, there was a drug bust on our house. He saved me. He's a police officer in Chicago."

"What happened? What happened that night, Tim?" Gibbs asked softly.

Unconsciously, Tim's voice became almost childlike, less refined than it usually was. "Daddy beat Momma again, like he always did. I was hiding with Sal–I mean with Sarah in the closet like always. We tried so hard to keep Daddy from hitting her. When she was too loud, I'd make more noise so that he would hit me instead," Tim said. He wasn't looking at anyone. He wasn't seeing anything except for the body of his father from so many years ago. "He found the...the chalkboard I'd made. I wanted to go to school so bad. Kids there seemed happy...but Daddy always said that I was too dumb, that I couldn't do anything right. He found the chalkboard and he hit me with it." Tim didn't see the others wince, didn't see the shock on their faces as the assumptions they'd all made about Tim's life evaporated to nothing. "After Momma and me cleaned up, he made me stay downstairs. I didn't know why, but he did. It turned out that he planned to sell me to Sharp. I didn't understand it back then, but I know more or less what I could expect now. They didn't like the price Daddy was demanding; so they shot him. When that happened, the police moved in. Sharp grabbed me and was going to kill me. He probably would have, but Momma heard everything and ran down the stairs screaming. It distracted him long enough for Nick to shoot him...but he didn't kill him. Sharp fell on me, but as they took him away he..." Tim stopped. He could see Sharp's eyes on him. He could feel the same fear. It still haunted his dreams even now.

"What, McGee?" Gibbs asked. He was still holding onto Tim's shoulders.

"He said, 'You're mine. Never forget that.' He said it at the trial, too. Just now...on the phone, he said it again."

"That was _Sharp_ on the phone?"

Tim nodded. "He's going to come after me."

"Are you sure of that?"

"He sees me as his. I belong to him. He paid for me. It's not me as a witness anymore. He was convicted. He lost his appeal. It's been twenty years. There's not much for him to do, but he wants _me_. I don't know what he's willing to do to get to me, though."

"What about the Marshalls?"

"They're getting Sarah and my mom."

"What about you?"

Tim looked up for the first time since he'd started to explain. "No. I can't go with them."

"Why not?"

"Don't you see? This is my life. I have everything I've ever wanted. I went to school. I'm doing what I love to do, what I've wanted to do ever since I first talked to Nick. I have friends. I can't give this up. I _won't_ give this up, not to him. It's taken me so long to get past what happened. I still have nightmares about Sharp, about my father." Tim absently wiped away the tears. "I can't give in to those nightmares. I won't. Besides, this is my fault."

"No, it's not."

"Yes. It is. Do you think that Sharp would have known where to look if he hadn't seen the character of Toby McGregor in my book? This is my fault. I should just go."

"Where, McGee?"

"I don't know. Somewhere. Anywhere. ...nowhere. I have to stop him, Boss."

"Why?"

"Because...I made the decision the night my father died that I was going to help people. I was _not_ going to be my father."

"You're not, McGee."

Tim pulled away and turned toward the windows. "I look like my father. Did you know that? I look just like him. His height, his face. I look like him. I never wanted to be him. I never wanted to...to hurt the people who...who only wanted him to love them. Now...I've brought it all down on them...just because I used the name. I was named after my father. Tobias Allen McGregor. I was trying to...make the name something better. ...and all I did was leave a road map for the people who want us dead."

The silence was deafening. Tim had transformed from the quintessential computer geek to a stranger...and it had happened in an instant...but in a way, it made sense. It made more sense than the past they had _thought_ he had. His anxiety, his social awkwardness, his whole personality made more sense with this background.

"McGee, are you sure he'll come after you?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then we need to know everything we can about his movements, about his contacts. Everything," Gibbs said. "Tony..."

"I still have some contacts in Illinois. I'll see what I can dig up," Tony said.

"Ziva, I want you to physically verify that Sarah is with the U.S. Marshalls. Whatever it takes."

"Yes, Gibbs."

"McGee, get me everything you can on Sharp. I want to see his file." Everyone else went into action, but Tim still stood there, frozen, the blood pressure cuff still dangling from his arm.

"McGee!"

"Boss?" Tim said, his voice trembling. "Maybe I should have arrested myself."

"What?"

"You said that there's no middle ground. That I have to either put on the cuffs or find the person responsible." Tim turned around. "I _am_ responsible. This time...if anything happens...if anything happens to anyone...it will be my fault. I _should_ be arrested for it."

"Timothy, may I remove this?" Ducky said, finally getting close enough to remove the cuff.

Tim looked down at his arm. "Oh...of course."

Ducky removed it and patted him on the shoulder. "You are a good man, Timothy McGee."

Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Boss...I don't want to be my father...not even unintentionally."

"McGee..."

"I mean, you say there's a choice, but what if there's not?"

"There is, McGee. You always have a choice," Gibbs said. "And right now, you have a choice to make. Either you can run off and try and do this on your own...or you can stay here and work _with_ us, with your team, your friends, and try to get this guy. Which is it going to be?"

Tim looked from Gibbs to Tony to Ducky. Ziva was already gone.

"We won't you down."

"What if _I _let _you _down?"

"You haven't yet," Gibbs said. "Which do you choose?"

Another deep breath. "You want Sharp's file?" he asked, finally.

"And anything else we might need to track him down."

"Okay, Boss." Tim walked slowly to his computer and sat down to work.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Possession**

"McGee," Tony said. Tim was sitting at his desk, searching. He hadn't said a word. "Hey, McGee?"

"What, Tony?" Tim didn't look up.

"You told Abby that you've had trouble taking tests...since kindergarten."

"I lied. I never went to kindergarten. I didn't start school until I was ten."

"So...you didn't graduate early?"

"I did. I graduated at sixteen, just like I said before. I went to MIT, Johns Hopkins."

"Why did you say–?"

"That I've been nervous since kindergarten?" Tim looked up and actually smiled. "Rule number seven: Always be specific when you lie."

"You said you told your father what you were up to..."

"Every day. I lied."

"Why?"

"Because I liked the idea that my childhood was boring. It was much better than what I actually had."

"Yes, I'm still here," Tony said into the phone suddenly. "I'm looking for Albert Stokes. Yes, I know it's been a long day. I haven't had the best day myself, but this is really important." He looked at the phone in distaste. "Great. I'm on hold again." He looked at Tim who was back at work. "McGee."

"What, Tony?"

"I'm sorry, man."

Tim looked up. "For what?"

"I could have treated you better."

Tim smiled. "Tony, if I had wanted you to know what had happened to me, I would have mentioned it."

"But..."

"I never confused you with my father, Tony. My father hated me. I don't know why, but he did. He nearly cracked my head open when I asked him once." Tim closed his eyes as he remembered the pain of that night. It wasn't even his father's fists that caused the most pain. It was the realization that his own father hated his guts. "It didn't matter if he was drunk, sober or high. He always hated me. I didn't want to remember that."

"It's just that I've worked child abuse cases before. I've seen what can happen. I could have..."

"Tony...You've always been on the good guys' side."

"What?"

"When I was little, I ran into Nick on the street. I didn't know he was a policeman at the time. He was the first person outside of my family I had ever spoken to. I was eight years old, and the only other man I knew beat me. Nick gave me an old university sweater. He went to Kentucky State University. I didn't know what the letters meant, but it was the first present I had ever received. That was the first time that I knew there were good people...and bad people. My father was a bad person. I knew that, but then I knew that there were good people, like Nick. Since then, I've always unconsciously placed people onto the good side and the bad side." Tim smiled. "You've always been on the good side, Tony. You were annoying to me at first, but I could always tell that you were one of the good guys."

"Wow, Probie. I'm flattered."

"It's just the truth, Tony. Nothing more. Nothing less." Tim went back to work.

"Yes! Al! Great to hear your voice again, too," Tony said suddenly. "I need a favor. ...yes, I know you've got lots on your plate. Actually, it's probably from the same thing I need help with...yeah, the prison breakout. We're worried that one of the escapees might be coming after a witness that's here in DC. Alexander Sharp, drug dealer, murderer. Yeah, that's him. Can you give me the lowdown?"

Tim tried to focus on his task, but his eyes kept wandering from the monitor to Tony's desk where he was writing a bunch of stuff down on a notepad.

"McGee."

Tim looked up with frightened eyes. It was Gibbs. It was almost funny. In the last few years, he had nearly forgotten how terrified he was of Sharp in the face of Gibbs' nearly omnipresent intimidation. Now...Gibbs wasn't scary at all. Sharp was.

"What do you got?"

"Sharp's FBI file...and the...the court transcripts from the trials."

"Good work, McGee."

"Buddy of mine is sending over current status of the investigation. He was glad to get some intel. They've already rounded up about five of the convicts..." Tony paused. "...not Sharp, sorry."

Tim shrugged. "I didn't expect them to. It couldn't be that easy."

"Let's see what we have now," Gibbs said. He held out his hand and Tim gave him copies of the files he'd found. They all got to work, each one studying the information intently, trying to figure out what might have been missed, what they still needed to see.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

About an hour later, Tim suddenly stood up and walked to the windows.

"What is it, McGee?"

"Where's Ziva?" Tim turned around. "Shouldn't she be back by now? Shouldn't she have found Sarah...found where she is...or at least whether or not the Marshals found her...shouldn't she have checked in at least?" He was trying not to sound panicked, but he was and Tony and Gibbs both could tell. "Something is wrong."

As if on cue, Gibbs' phone began to ring, as did Tim's. Gibbs answered and Tim stared at him for a moment before answering his own phone.

"McGee."

"_Tim!"_

"Mom. What is it?"

"_I just wanted you to know that the Marshals are here. They're not happy about you refusing to go."_

"I don't care what they think. Did you get a hold of Sarah?"

"_Yes. I told her what was happening. She's not happy about it."_

"Are any of us?"

"_No."_

"When did you talk to her?"

"_Why?"_

"No reason."

"_Don't lie to me, Tim."_

"I'm just worried, Mom. That's all."

"_It's been nearly an hour and a half."_

"Okay. Thanks. Mom, stay safe."

"_You, too. You have nothing to prove, Tim. Remember that. Nothing."_

"Bye, Mom."

"_Bye, Tim. I love you."_

"I love you, too." Tim hung up and saw Gibbs talking in a low voice with Tony. He walked over quickly. "What is it?"

"Ziva can't find Sarah."

Tim mouthed the word _what_, but no sound came out.

"The Marshals can't either. They made contact with her at her dorm room, but when they got there, she was gone. No sign of a struggle."

Tim's ears started ringing. _Sarah's gone! He's got her!_ There was no doubt in his mind why Sarah was not in her dorm room. He felt as though he had gone blind, that his entire world had shrunk down to the space from which Sarah was now missing. He had to find her, put her back in her space, fill the empty space. He couldn't let Sarah get hurt.

Suddenly, he was conscious of someone's hands on his arms, keeping him from moving, keeping him from Sarah. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, the part of him that was still receiving optical stimuli, he realized that Gibbs was holding him still; the part that was still hearing something beyond the howls of anguish in his mind realized that Gibbs was speaking to him

"McGee! Snap out of it!"

Tim took a deep breath and wrenched his mind back into gear. "I can't let her get hurt."

"_We_ won't," Gibbs said firmly. "But you need to calm down."

Tim suddenly grabbed Gibbs' arms. "She's my sister!" he said. It was the same reason he had given Gibbs before. There was no other reason for his panic.

"I know, McGee."

"He's got her."

"Probably."

"No. He's _got_ her," Tim insisted. "You know that. I know that." He looked at Tony who was standing close by. "We all know who has her."

"You're right, Probie," Tony said. "We do. Ziva's processing the scene as we speak...but we know."

"If anything happens to Sarah..."

"We won't let that happen," Gibbs said.

Tim's phone started ringing. They all looked at it. Gibbs' hands dropped to his sides and Tim answered it.

"McGee."

"_Recognize this?"_ Tim heard pitiful cries. His hand tightened around the phone until he thought he might crush it.

"What do you want?"

"_You know what I want. The question is whether or not you're willing to give it...or if you'll hide inside that fancy building you work in and let your sweet little sister die."_ There was a shriek, not of pain but of fear. Tim had never heard Sarah make that sound. She had cried. She had been frightened, but she had always been kept from experiencing the extremes. Tim had made sure of that.

"Let her go."

"_We can discuss it...in person."_

"Fine. Where? When?"

"_I'll be in touch...and I'll keep your little sister close, Toby. You should have done that yourself."_

Tim started to open his mouth to retort, but the connection was broken.

"That was him," Tim said, trying to keep his voice level. He had moved beyond the fear now. Alexander Sharp had Sarah. There was one thing that was more important to him than anything in the world. More important than his job, more important than his own life. That was his family. Sharp was threatening his family. That made Tim angry. Very angry.

"What does he want?"

Tim met Gibbs' gaze.

"Me."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Quick and Painless**

Sarah couldn't remember ever being as frightened as she was right at that moment. They had tied her to a chair. She alternated between mind-numbing terror and self-recriminations. She _knew_ that she was supposed to verify identities before going with people. She _knew_ that. How often had both Tim and Joan hammered it into her head? And yet...she had gone with them without a moment's thought. Her only thought had been one of resentment at having her life changed. As she sat, facing the wall, unable to see her captors, she tried to focus on figuring out why she acted that way. It helped avoid the panic. Why was it that she took this so much less seriously than Tim and Joan did? What was it that made her so different?

_Daddy never hurt me,_ Sarah realized. Not once that she could remember. He hadn't hit her. She barely remembered him at all. He...and their whole life as the McGregors was nothing more than a vague darkness in her past. More than her mother and brother, she really _was_ Sarah McGee. There was little left of Sally McGregor...because there hadn't been much of her in the first place. Sarah knew that there were lingering remnants, even in her, but they were few and far between.

Then, she stiffened as she felt the man come up behind her. Alexander Sharp. It must be him. She knew about him, of course. She remembered when Tim had gone to testify. She had been afraid for him. She didn't know what she feared, but she had been nearly inconsolable during that first week. Suddenly, Sarah caught the glint of sunlight on metal and she shrieked involuntarily as the knife descended to caress her neck. It did not break the skin. It barely even touched her. ...but she still screamed in terror.

"Tim!" she screamed. Sharp laughed cruelly in her ear and then withdrew. Sarah felt the tears begin to fall, felt her chest heave with anxious breaths. She was afraid. Nothing else happened.

...as she calmed down, she noticed that she hadn't called for her mother, nor for any of her friends. She had called for Tim. Why was that? Joan was a good mother. Sarah had always felt loved by her, had always felt safe. Unbidden, however, memories from when they had first moved to New York welled up in her head. She had _clung_ to Tim, everywhere he had gone. Sarah had been nearly incapable of being by herself. She always wanted to be with Tim. Even at night, she had snuck into his bedroom and slept with him...because...why? ...because Tim always kept her safe. She didn't know how she knew that, but it was true.

When she had been drugged and nearly raped, even in her addled state, she had gone to Tim...the one person who could keep her safe, and he had never disappointed her on that score. She was rude to him sometimes, but he loved her so unconditionally. It seemed as though the only thing he cared about in the world was making sure that she was happy. It was only when she had started attending Waverly and had dormmates that she realized most people didn't have that. It wasn't that her friends' brothers didn't love them. It was that there was something more to it for Tim. Sarah didn't know what it was.

There was a crash behind her and Sarah flinched. Then, she heard that cruel laughter again. She wanted desperately to know what was going on, but she was too frightened to turn her head to try and find out. For what she realized was the first time, Sarah wondered if Tim had ever been this afraid. He never seemed to be. Oh, she knew he'd had nightmares, but he would never tell her about what had happened to him. He preferred to keep the abuse in the past. ...and Sarah had to admit that she allowed him to. She didn't want to remember it. She didn't even want to acknowledge the fact that she had ever been anyone other than Sarah McGee.

She felt him behind her again, hovering close to her...it made her feel...more than frightened..._soiled_ by his mere presence. There was something about Sharp that was repellent, even with as little as she knew about him. He stood there behind her, not moving, not touching her...but he might as well have been.

Finally, Sarah mastered her fear enough to ask, "What do you want with me?"

He bent down and whispered into her ear, an intimate action that brought more frightened tears to her eyes.

"I don't want anything with _you_."

"Then...why won't you let me go?"

"If your doting brother does what he's told, I will..."

"If he doesn't?"

The laughter was hot breath in her ear and she shied away.

"You won't be around to see."

She held off the panic. "What do you want from Tim?"

"It's not what I want _from_ him."

Then, she felt him straighten and walk away, leaving her only that cryptic statement. All she had ever known was that Sharp was involved in drugs somehow, that Tim knew about it. She berated herself for never even _trying_ to get details. Even if Joan and Tim hadn't wanted to talk about it, she could have found newspaper articles. She hadn't even tried.

_I'm such a coward,_ she said to herself. _They lived through it and I didn't want to know._

"You want her? You have to come and get her, and trust me when I say that her life depends on you following my instructions."

_That's me he's talking about,_ Sarah realized with a start. _He must be talking to Tim!_

"Proof? You want _proof_?"

A phone was jammed into her face.

"Speak."

Sarah couldn't make her mouth work. She tried, but she was suddenly so frightened at what he was doing that she couldn't speak.

The knife was at her throat again.

"Speak."

Sarah whimpered. "Don't hurt me," she cried. "Tim, don't let him hurt me!"

She didn't get to hear Tim reply. She didn't get the tonic of Tim's voice, a voice so rarely containing anything but love for her. Even those times that he had been angry or frustrated, he had loved her. Sarah wanted nothing more than to hear Tim tell her everything would be okay, but she didn't get that. The phone was gone.

"She's alive, as you heard. If you try to stall so that your colleagues can trace the call, I'll just kill her and be done; so shut up and listen. You come to the Blue Plains plant tonight at ten. Go to the sedimentation basins. I shouldn't need to tell you to come alone. If I get wind of anyone else there, I don't care if I kill her...and I'll make sure that you get to listen. Bring your phone, but nothing else. No hidden weapons, nothing. If you're more than five minutes late, I'll add her body to the organics."

Sharp laughed about something.

"You have to make that decision yourself, Toby. Are you willing to risk your little sister's life to save your own skin? If so, tell me. I'll kill her and get you another way."

_Get you...not get something from you,_ Sarah realized and it was like she'd been punched in the gut. Sharp wanted Tim...not anything Tim had...Tim himself. _I'm the bait. He's banking on Tim wanting to save me...and he's right. Tim won't let him hurt me._ She suddenly saw very clearly what Sharp planned. Tim would give his life for Sarah...and that's exactly what Sharp wanted.

"No!" she screamed. "No, Tim! Don't come for me!"

Sharp walked over and slapped her. "Brave little missy. Won't do you any good. He's already agreed."

Sarah started to cry. It wasn't so much the slap, although that had hurt, as much as the certainty that her carelessness was leading her brother to his death.

Sharp left her there for a long time. Sarah barely noticed her physical pains in the face of knowing that Tim would die for her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Trust**

"McGee, this is crazy! You know what this means if you go," Tony said. "You know what will happen. This is worse than in the movies!"

Tim looked at Tony. He looked at Gibbs and at Ziva who had just returned. His face was set.

"I know what will happen if I don't go. Do you have a better idea? Because if you do, now would be a good time to mention it."

No one spoke.

Tim smiled humorlessly. "I know what this means. If I go, Sharp will probably get me...but if I don't...he'll kill my sister. I can't let Sarah die because of me."

"Sarah won't want you to die for her either," Tony pointed out.

"I know...but Sharp won't kill me right away," Tim said as he put his badge and gun in his drawer.

"How can you know that, McGee?" Ziva asked. "Sharp has already proven many times that he is willing to kill."

"If he kills me, then it's over," Tim said. "What power can he have if I'm dead?" He shook his head. "No...he'll want to...take his time."

"McGee..." Tony began.

"Tony!" Tim slammed the drawer closed and stood. "Sarah...is...my...sister! Why can't you understand what that means?" He walked toward the elevator, but Tony and Ziva both blocked his way. Gibbs so far had stayed silent, just observing.

Tim glared at them and then spoke again. "When Sarah was two years old, she got sick, nothing serious, but it made her fussy. She would cry at odd times, and...my father got annoyed. That night he was...I don't know if it was drunk or high...and he couldn't tell who was making the noise. He just knew that it was annoying. He'd already beat my mother that night. I was the only one who could protect her. I hid Sarah under my bed and I made as much noise as I could so that Dad...my father would think it was me." Tim stopped, his eyes filled with remembered pain. "...I don't even remember the rest of that night. He came into the room and the next thing I knew, I was in bed and it was morning. I could barely walk for days after that. I was nine when that happened. If you think that I will sit here now and let her die...you're crazy. If you think I'm going to do anything that will jeopardize her safety, her life...you don't know me at all."

"Then, what _are_ you going to do, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

Tim turned around. "I'm going to follow his instructions."

"No."

For once, Tim didn't cower. He didn't flinch. He didn't stammer. This was the one time that he would not be intimidated...not even by Gibbs.

"Yes, Boss. I am going to do exactly what he wants me to do. I'm going to take my phone. I am going to leave my gun behind...and you are going to stay here..." He actually smiled. "...or at least, you are _not_ going to go to Blue Plains." His voice was hard, the level of command in it rivaling that of Gibbs himself. "As I said, if you have a better idea, then, fine, tell me...but I don't. All I can see is that I need to get my sister free. I've done what I can here. Now, I have to go. I have a deadline...and that is literal this time. Sarah will die if I cross it."

"Do you _want_ to die, McGee?" Gibbs asked. It was a genuine question, and Tim knew it.

"No. I don't want to die, but my life means nothing if Sarah dies. She kept me alive when I was young, when I couldn't see anything else in the world worth living for. I had Sarah. I don't want to die, Boss...but I will for her."

"Then, wait for two minutes."

"Why?"

Gibbs smiled and picked up his phone. "Abby, we need a GPS locator. Two minutes."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're putting it into my shoe?" Tim asked.

"Sure! It worked for Tony," Abby said, focusing only on her task so that she didn't have to think about the implications of what she was doing. She didn't know all the details...only that Sarah had been kidnaped and that Tim was going to get her back...and that no one wanted him to go.

"As I recall, it was shorted out in a stream only a couple of hours after he went on the run," Tim said, sounding normal, but looking out the window more than he was looking at anyone. He was already gone. His body just hadn't caught up yet.

"Well, do you plan on frolicking in the wastewater, Tim?" she asked.

"No, but I doubt Tony was planning on going into the stream either."

"You know me, Probie. I love making things difficult. It keeps you on your toes."

Tim smiled.

"There we go," Abby announced, handing Tim his shoe. "Now, will you tell me what's going on?"

Tim sat down to put on his shoe. Abby had very cleverly cut open the soul and put the tracker in the heel. He remained silent as he tied the laces. In fact, no one was speaking. He knew that they didn't want him to go. He knew that it was as good as signing his own death warrant...probably. The look on Gibbs' face was not one of acceptance. He would more than likely do whatever he could to keep Tim alive.

What Tim couldn't say was how much he trusted Gibbs and the rest of them to do just that. He was walking open-eyed into this situation, knowing that if it were possible, the team would get him out...because he trusted them. He had worked with these people for nearly five years. They weren't perfect...no more than he himself was perfect. That wasn't the important thing. The important thing was that Tim had put his life in their hands. He was going to save Sarah, but he hoped they would then save him. If not...well, it had been a pretty good life, barring the first ten years. His life as Timothy McGee had been a good one.

He stood up and looked at Abby, shaking his head. "No, Abby, I don't have time. They can tell you."

"Tim...why does it feel like you're saying good-bye?"

Tim smiled and hugged her. Then, he walked to the elevator and looked at them all, remembering suddenly the first time he'd come into this building, the first time he'd met them. Kate was with them then. It had felt as right then as it did now...like he belonged there, like he'd found his place in the world.

The elevator doors closed and Tim squared his shoulders, prepared to either reclaim his life or lose it. There would be no more middle ground.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Deal or No Deal?**

"Boss?"

"What, Tony?" Gibbs asked. After the elevator doors closed, he had sat down at his computer and began typing.

"Aren't we going to go after him?"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because McGee is right. If we follow, if we break his deal, Sharp will probably kill him. Think about it: This is the first place Sharp came after breaking out. He wants McGee more than anything else. He probably doesn't even care about getting killed later on. He's been in prison for twenty years. He has no position in the drug trade anymore. All he has is...revenge or whatever it is that brought him here."

"If that is the case, then, why are we letting him get what he wants? I know that we can follow McGee using the tracker, but it seems risky to let him get too far away," Ziva said.

"What is going _on_?" Abby shrieked.

"Ziva, explain. DiNozzo...I need a phone number."

"Whose?"

"Someone who can make McGee think...because I doubt we succeeded."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim had time to think as he drove...too much time. He had always known he was more of a thinker than a doer. It was easy to think about things before taking any action. He hadn't been doing much thinking when he left...not the logical thinking he so preferred anyway. What he'd been thinking of was Sarah and Sharp and...and Tobias Allen McGregor. As he drove across the Anacostia River, he looked across the muddy waters and back toward the Navy Yard. He couldn't see NCIS from there, but he knew where it was.

_No more looking back,_ Tim ordered himself. _Now is not the time._ Even so, he almost missed his exit from I-295. Horns blared as he swerved onto the exit ramp. He flushed. It would be the perfect irony if he got in an accident on his way to get himself killed. He took a deep breath and merged onto Overlook Avenue, heading southwest. It seemed to take forever, although in reality it was only a few minutes before he saw the turnoff for Blue Plains...and for an instant, he wanted to change his mind, turn right around and drive back to NCIS.

Then, his phone started to ring. He picked it up and answered quickly, thinking it would be Sharp.

"I'm here! I'm here!" he nearly shouted.

"_Is this Tim?"_

The voice was not what he was expecting.

"Yes? Who is this?"

"_It's been a long time, about fifteen years."_

"Nick?!"

"_It sounds like you're in some trouble, Tim."_

Tim had to pull over. He didn't want to be late, but it was only 9:45 and he hadn't heard Nick's voice for years. Even their written communications had been few and far between.

"Nick, you have no idea. I really can't talk right now...how did you–?"

"_Get your number? I got a call from your boss. He said you were about to throw your life away."_

"I'm not. I've got to..." Tim's phone beeped, signaling another caller. "I've got to go, Nick. I can't explain."

"_Just one thing, Tim: Sharp thinks he's holding all the cards and that makes things more dangerous. He's also in a hurry and that makes it more likely that he'll make mistakes. Don't take any more unnecessary risks. Remember that you can win this one...and you are not your father. You are _not_ your father, Tim. Remember that."_

Tim couldn't think of a response. He hung up, hating that he had to do it.

"Yes?"

"_Where are you?"_

That was the voice he had expected, the one that made him feel like a child again.

"Uh..." Tim looked around frantically. "...at the...nitrification reactors."

"_At the next road, turn right."_ Sharp hung up.

"Wait! Let me..." Tim sighed and turned right when he reached the road. His phone rang again.

"_There are two sets of basins. Drive past the first. Park in the space between them on the south side."_ Again, Sharp hung up.

Tim did as instructed and found an empty space in which to park his car. It was dark and this part of the plant seemed empty...oppressive with the silence. He got out of the car and his phone rang again.

"_Walk south between the two sets of basins."_

"How far?"

"_Until you see your sister. Time is of the essence. Don't waste it. Leave the phone in the car and start walking."_ Sharp disconnected, leaving Tim no choice but to obey.

Timidly, Tim took a step...then, another. Water churned in the basins on either side of him. The smell wasn't particularly pleasant, but it wasn't unbearable...not like the stress causing his heart to pump at a million beats per minute. He jogged across the cement walkway, skirting the various pylons and equipment sitting out. As he moved, his eyes darted around, looking for any sign of Sarah. He saw nothing in the darkness, heard no screams, no pleas for help such as had torn him apart on the phone. He reached the end of the basins, having seen nothing. He looked around, bereft of any further guidance.

_He said to keep walking until I see Sarah,_ Tim told himself. That seemed to mean that he had to go on...because he saw nothing. He jumped down from the walkway and walked toward what seemed to be a storage area. As he came closer, he got the feeling that this was where Sharp and Sarah were hidden. Even so, his pace slowed and Tim actually reached for his gun...and then was chagrined to remember that it wasn't there. The piles of junk took on menacing auras. Sharp seemed to be behind every one. Then, Tim saw a flash of color...red.

"Sarah?" he called, throwing caution to the winds.

There was no reply, but the red jerked out of sight, briefly.

"Sarah!" Tim began to run. Behind a pile of culverts, tied to a chair, was his sister. She was gagged and there was a bruise on her cheek, but otherwise, she looked unhurt. He could see, however, that she was terrified. He could see it in her eyes. Tim reached for the gag, but froze when he felt someone behind him. He started to turn.

"I don't think so, Toby. Untie her legs, first."

Tim couldn't stop the shaking when he heard Sharp's voice, felt the man behind him. Sarah was crying and Tim mustered up a weak smile before bending over to remove the rope from around her legs.

"Now the rope around her waist."

Tim did so.

"Now, her arms...and don't even think about moving, missy," he warned.

"Are you going to let her go?"

"What do I want with her? She's a waste of space. You hear that, missy? You keep your tongue in your head if you want to get out of this alive."

Tim removed the ropes from around her arms and Sarah removed the gag herself. Then, she fell on Tim hugging him tightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Don't listen to him, Tim. Don't let him take you...please," she whispered in his ear.

Tim didn't respond directly. "Sarah, here are my keys. Run straight back, between the basins and you'll see my car," he said aloud. He leaned closer and whispered, "I love you, Sarah. Remember that. I love you."

Sarah was crying as Tim pulled himself from her arms.

"Go, Sarah."

"Tim...please..."

Tim shook his head. "No. Go."

Sarah looked back over his shoulder to Sharp. Then, her eyes shifted back to Tim. She didn't speak again, but her eyes were pleading.

Tim smiled at her, ready to place himself between Sarah and the one who would hurt her...as he had his entire life. Finally, she turned and began to run, her sobs audible as she departed.

"All right, Toby. Let's go."

Tim began to turn toward the voice, but as he did so, Sharp hit him over the head with the butt of his gun and Tim fell to the ground.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_He's moving, Tony. He's heading...south, slowly," _Abby said. _"Here, I'm sending the GPS to the car."_

"We got it, Abbs. Thanks," Tony said. "There he is, Boss. That's not on I-295."

"Nope. Not yet, anyway."

Gibbs' phone began ringing. He tossed it to Tony to answer.

"It's McGee!" Tony said. "McGee!"

The sobbing immediately clued him into the fact that it was _not_ Tim on the phone. _"Agent Gibbs...he's got Tim. He got my brother!"_

"This is Tony, Sarah. Is it Sharp?"

"_Yes!"_

"He let you go?"

Sarah's voice was nearly unintelligible through her gasping sobs. _"He said I was a waste of space. He didn't want me. He wanted Tim. That's all he wanted. He took me because he knew that Tim would save me...he knew that Tim wouldn't let him hurt me...Tony! This is all my fault. I didn't ask them for ID, I just went with them. I didn't even think about it!"_

"Sarah, it's not your fault. Where are you?"

"_I don't know. I'm lost. I was trying to get back to NCIS, but I can't find how to get on the freeway, and I couldn't think of what to do...and I can barely see. Tim's going to die! Sharp is going to kill him! I know it!"_

"Tell me what happened," Tony said, trying to remain very calm.

"_He tied me to a chair and dragged me out there. He hid his van and then put me in this other place. Tim came and let me go. He told me to run to his car. He gave me his keys. He made me! Tony, I didn't want to leave him! I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want Tim to go with him!"_

"Okay, Sarah? I need you to take a deep breath. Look around," Tony said. "What road are you on?"

"_I don't know! It's right next to the freeway, near Blue Plains, but it doesn't join back up going north."_

"Okay, just keep driving. You'll get to a place where they join up. Don't worry. Once you get on the freeway, drive back to NCIS and stay there. Okay?"

"_I don't want my brother to die!"_

"He won't, Sarah. We won't let him. Promise. So...take a deep breath...and don't worry about a thing. We'll get him back."

"_You promise?"_

"I said so, didn't I?"

"_Okay."_

"Good. Now, I need to hang up, Sarah. Are you all right?"

"_Yeah. I'm okay."_

"Good. We'll see you back at NCIS." Tony hung up. Then, he picked up _his_ phone and looked at the GPS. "Wait, Abbs. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"_That he seems to be heading for the Potomac? Yeah."_

Gibbs floored the gas.

"Why would he be headed for the river?" Ziva asked, striving to lean up while still preserving her life. "There is no bridge there. In fact, only one road leads away from the plant. ...unless, he has a boat somewhere near there."

Tony repeated what Ziva said.

"_There is a dock on that side of the plant. I'd bet it's normally for larger transports, but that's no reason for Sharp not to use it. Tony, what if he's going to..."_

"We won't let that happen, Abbs," Tony said, hoping he wasn't lying. "We won't." Then, he hung up and looked at Gibbs. "We won't, right, Boss?"

Gibbs didn't answer. He swerved off of I-295, not giving up a single mile per hour.

_Please, let us make it._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Recompense**

"Twenty years!"

Tim felt the booted foot connect with his ribs in a most unpleasant fashion. In fact, the cracking sound that accompanied the sensation was worse.

"_Twenty...years!_"

Another foot to the ribs. Then, Tim noticed the rocking. That was different. That was not what he'd been expecting. In fact, it almost felt like...

"You are going to pay for every single one of them...and I know how to make sure you stay alive for it all, Toby. You are going to _beg_ me to kill you. You'll _wish_ that I had simply put a bullet through your stupid little skull twenty years ago!" Every statement was punctuated with a kick.

Tim tried to twist away from the foot, but he was disoriented and starting to feel distinctly queasy, even through the pain of the continued kicks. Then, the foot shifted from the ribs to the abdomen. One well-placed kick and Tim was throwing up on the bottom of the..._boat? Great. How much worse could it get?_

Then, he heard a motor start up and felt the boat start to move, rocking with a nauseating rhythm. Tim forced his eyes open. It was hard to do. He hadn't been completely knocked out by the blow to the back of his skull, but it had been hard enough to completely incapacitate him. The beating he was getting now threw him back into the time when his father had beaten him...only worse. He had no doubt that Sharp would carry out his threat.

"You destroyed my life!" Another kick, and Tim gasped for breath, trying to convince his lungs that they really could function, that there was air for the taking...as he continued to vomit. The boat rocked back and forth, letting in water to mix with the puke.

_Wonderful...Now, I can drown in polluted water _and_ be seasick,_ Tim thought to himself as he remained limp. Somehow, the anger, the rage of Sharp didn't bother him as much as it should have. _Rage. That's a weakness, not a strength. Uncontrollable. Keep him that way. Distracted, unthinking. He's getting revenge._

"Do you remember, Toby? Do you? Do you remember that night?"

Tim opened his eyes once more and, through the darkness, forced himself to meet Sharp's lifeless gaze. He smiled with an emotion he didn't feel.

"Only with pleasure," he ground out. "You killed my father and got arrested. I got free."

Sharp's features twisted with fury. He ignored the rocking of the boat and kicked Tim over and over. Then, he reached down and grabbed Tim by the throat, lifting him with a strength belied by his wiry frame.

"The pleasure is all yours, Toby."

"Timothy," Tim corrected as he choked for air.

"What?"

"Timothy McGee. There is no Toby...and I am _not_ a child...anymore," Tim whispered. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and the boat continued to travel across the Potomac, no longer controlled by Sharp and still rocking dangerously. Tim didn't want to do it, but he saw no other choice. He gathered what little strength he still had and jerked his body backward, pulling Sharp with him as he tumbled into the river.

However...what he hadn't planned on was Sharp _not_ letting go. The two of them sank through the murky waters to the bottom and Tim was at a decided disadvantage in the air department. He began to flail against Sharp with wild, frantic motions.

_No! You will _not_ win! You will _not_ destroy me!_ Tim screamed in his head, fighting a battle that was as much mental as physical. He would not allow himself to be the victim again. More importantly, he would not leave a chance for Sharp to get free and kill someone else. Not Sarah, not his mother, not anyone. His job was to protect people from monsters like Sharp. He would not slack off on that, not even at the bottom of the Potomac.

Sharp's grip was weakening as he himself began to need air. Finally, Tim was able to pull himself free. He struggled to the surface, trying not to breathe in the water, following what would be a disastrous natural inclination. Sharp rose with him, but Tim barely noticed.

_Air! Air! Air!_ Tim broke the surface, and he thought he heard something, a shout perhaps, but before he could do more than take a brief gasp of air, a hand snaked around his leg and pulled him inexorably downward again.

He kicked against the hand, but Sharp would not let go, determined to kill him even at the expense of his own life. One of Tim's hands reached the open air...but only one and he resented the fact that his _hand _was above the surface, but the part of him that really needed to be, i.e. his face, was still beneath the water. Tim looked downward and, close to, saw Sharp staring up at him, intent only on drowning him. Tim's ribs ached; his stomach ached; his lungs were screaming for air, and he knew that if he didn't get up soon, he really _would_ drown.

_Help!_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Gibbs! I've lost him!"_ Abby said fearfully over the phone.

"We see that, Abbs. Where was he?"

"_In the middle of the Potomac...Gibbs..."_

"Don't say it, Abbs," Gibbs instructed and then hung up. The car screeched to a stop near the docks and the three of them jumped out, not checking to see if they were all following, only focused on getting to the docks, boat or not. It was night, but that didn't stop them from seeing out into the middle of the river... a boat was floating...empty. A sudden explosion of splashing marked the spot where a man broke the surface.

"McGee!" Tony shouted.

Then, he slipped back under the water. They looked at each other for about two seconds before kicking off their shoes and jumping into the water. Gibbs hung back for a moment and called one more number. He gave his instructions tersely and then hung up and joined Tony and Ziva as they swam toward the boat which was still floating downstream.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_No!_ Tim shouted in his head. Lights were flashing in his eyes and he was slowing down. He kicked at Sharp again, and this time, his foot connected with Sharp's face. He let go and Tim tried for the surface once more. He began breathing almost before his mouth and nose were clear of the water, gasping and panting as his oxygen-starved body greedily sucked in the life-giving air...but it didn't last and down he went once more. This time, however, in spite of his abused body, he was more prepared. He had taken a breath. Instead of struggling wildly to get away, he dove down toward Sharp and, in the absence of any other weapons, he turned the tables and wrapped his hands around Sharp's throat.

"_You're too stupid to go to school."_

"_Can't do nothin' right."_

"_You're mine."_

The words of the men that had so long instilled nothing but terror in him now fueled the anger that was driving him to kill. Tim ignored his own physical pain and ignored the fact that he wanted to breathe again. He wanted to get rid of Sharp more.

Then, a hand...a few hands reached around his waist, around his arms and tried to pull him up. He fought against them. Sharp was struggling a lot less now. It wouldn't take much longer.

"_I don't want to be my father."_

"_You have nothing to prove."_

Tim snapped out of his blind hatred, the same hatred that had goaded Sharp to pursue him even twenty years later, the same hatred that had caused his father to beat him and his mother. He let go of Sharp who moved only feebly. Instead of acquiescing to the insistent hands, Tim dove further and grabbed Sharp by the arm. Only then, did he allow himself to be pulled to the surface once more.

Four people came up from under the waters of the Potomac. One seemed to be nearly unconscious. One was obviously injured and the other two had their hands full trying to keep everyone afloat as they continued to drift downstream.

"Probie, you okay?"

Tim was glad for the water that masked the tears on his face. He shook his head and didn't answer.

"All right, let's get you to the shore, then, shall we? I don't particularly relish the idea of floating down to the Chesapeake Bay."

Tim managed to smile and looked at Ziva who was keeping Sharp's head barely above water.

"I think we should just leave him to drown," she grunted, distaste obvious on her face. "It would be a kindness."

Tim felt the imprint of every kick on his torso and Tony was hard-pressed to keep him above the water. That was probably the reason why, when Sharp suddenly turned on Ziva and attacked her, they were unable to do anything besides stare as Sharp somehow found Ziva's knife, pulled it out and stabbed it into her back just below the shoulder. She screamed and released him, slipping under the water, grabbing at the wound. For a moment, Tony was at a loss as to what he should do. Gibbs was still towing the boat over to them, attempting to swim upstream. Sharp struck out for the far shore. Then, Tim came alive again when he realized that Sharp was getting away, that he had just injured someone else. _Not again._

"Get Ziva!" he shouted, tore from Tony's grip and launched himself toward Sharp. He reached for the knife in his hand, even though he felt weaker than ever. He was maxing out on any energy he had left, but he couldn't let Sharp get away even if he was more a lead weight keeping Sharp from escaping than an actual hindrance.

Still, somehow, he managed to get a hold of Sharp's wrist as he brought the knife at Tim. The two of them sank beneath the waters again, but not before Tim got a glimpse of the looming Woodrow Wilson Bridge. It was still under construction but nearing completion. The knife glittered, even in the darkness and Tim knew that he wouldn't be able to hold it off for long, not underwater...and not when he was nearly passing out as it was. Sharp twisted the knife toward him and Tim struggled to keep it away. He kicked to the surface and got a small breath before sinking once more. Tim couldn't think of anything more than the knife, not Sharp, not ethics, not even the team. All he could think about was stopping that knife from getting any closer to him...but he was failing.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Do you got her, DiNozzo?" Gibbs shouted, letting go of the boat and swimming toward the splashing water.

"Got her, Boss."

"Tow her to shore!"

Gibbs reached the fighting pair, but at first, he couldn't tell which one was Tim and which was Sharp. It was just a mass of thrashing limbs and water. Then, they sank deeper as they floated beneath the Beltway. Gibbs struggled to grab a hold of one of them, but he just couldn't tell who was who.

...then, the thrashing stopped and both bodies hung motionless just below the surface. In the sudden stillness, Gibbs reached for the one he was sure was Tim and pulled him up. At first, there was still no movement, but then, Tim jerked in Gibbs' hands and gasped for air. He grabbed at Gibbs without much thought and nearly swamped them both.

"McGee! Calm down! I've got you!"

Tim lifted up his left hand. There was a knife clasped tightly in his fist. He didn't speak. He just held it up in the air.

"Sharp? Do I need to pull him up?"

Tim slowly shook his head and began to tremble.

"Okay, McGee, let's get you to shore."

Tim didn't respond, but he helped get them back to the bank by kicking his legs weakly. When they finally reached land, it was not the main shoreline. It was actually the bank of Rosilie Island. They would have to wait for help to get to them. Tim curled into a ball on the gravelly shore. He wrapped his armed around his torso and squeezed his eyes shut. The knife was still in his hand.

"McGee, did you kill him?"

Tim nodded.

"With the knife?"

Tim nodded again and swallowed.

Gibbs reached out and patted his shoulder. "It was self-defense, you know."

Tim nodded.

"Then, what's wrong?"

Tim whispered, but his voice was so low Gibbs couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

"I just wanted to help," he whispered again, slightly more loudly.

"You did, McGee."

Tim just shook his head and then asked a question that seemed to have no bearing on what had just happened.

"Why couldn't he just love me, Boss? That's all I wanted."

"Who?" Gibbs asked, keeping his hand tight on Tim's shoulder.

"All I wanted was for my father to love me. Was it so hard? Why? Why did he hate me so much? Why did he want to get rid of me? Why?" Tears leaked out of his tightly closed eyes.

"I don't know, Tim. I really don't know."

Tim didn't speak again. He just lay on the ground, Gibbs beside him and together they waited until a boat was launched to pick them up.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: Onward and Upward**

As it turned out, Ziva was incredibly lucky. The blood loss had been kept to a minimum and Sharp's attack had caused little internal damage. A lot of pain, but no permanent damage at all. They had to keep tabs on her to watch for any signs of internal bleeding, but the doctors had no doubt that she would make a full recovery.

Tim was slightly worse off due to a minor concussion, three broken ribs and some internal bleeding, exacerbated by his struggle with Sharp. However, all had been treated in good time, and while he would stay in the hospital for longer than Ziva, he would also recover...

...physically.

They weren't sure what was wrong with him. He talked; he listened; he understood that he had killed Sharp in self-defense...but he had lost something and no one could pinpoint what it was. It wasn't guilt...of that much, they were sure. Something had happened that had sapped him of...an essential part of him, a part that made him Timothy McGee. Sarah refused to leave his side, even at night. She had talked with Joan once, and the Marshals had decided to take no chances. They were keeping her for a few more days, even though she was chomping at the bit to be back with her children.

They dragged the Potomac and fished out Sharp's body the morning after Tim killed him. Gibbs called and told Tim, but the news seemed to make no impression at all. He thanked Gibbs for telling him, but other than that...nothing. ...so Gibbs made one more call.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I told Mom that she didn't need me to go and get her, but she insisted," Sarah complained.

Tim smiled. "She wants to know that you're okay, Sarah. Humor her. I'm sure she wants to talk to you and get all the details."

"I don't want to leave you, Tim," Sarah said.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sarah. Promise."

"Cross your heart?"

"Scout's honor."

Sarah smiled, but she, too, had noticed the change and her smile was tinged with confusion as she finally left.

Alone, Tim sighed. He couldn't have explained his feelings anymore than anyone else could. There was something wrong and he couldn't identify it. He couldn't pinpoint the problem and so was powerless to find the solution. He didn't actually remember a whole lot from his fight in the Potomac. It was all a blur of pain and water, fear and anger. The entire experience had taken less than half an hour from the time Sharp put him into the boat to when Gibbs had pulled him onto Rosilie Island. ...and yet, it had made such a difference to him. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't guilt. He regretted having to kill Sharp, mainly because he felt it wrong to do so, but he couldn't regret the fact that he was dead. That was a relief. He shook his head and wondered anew _what_ was wrong with him.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in?"

The head that poked into the room was aged by fifteen years, but it was still the same man he had seen so long ago. Tim blinked trying to confirm that, yes, it was who he thought it was.

"Nick...how–? Why–?"

Nick, his hair graying, his face more lined both with age and with worry, walked over to the bed and looked at Tim appraisingly.

"Well, in spite of your recent excitement, I think you've grown up quite well, Tim."

"You look older," Tim said without thinking. "I mean..."

Nick waved his hand. "No, stay honest. I know I'm much older than I was the last time I saw you. I got another call from your boss. Seeing as the people who wanted you dead now know who you are, it seemed unfair that the people who wanted to keep you alive couldn't have the same opportunity."

Tim smiled and gestured to the chair. "It's nice to see you again, Nick."

"What's wrong, Tim?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Everyone knows, even if they can't put it into words. What's wrong?"

"I...I don't know. You're right, though. Something _is_ wrong, and I just don't know what it is."

"Is it killing Sharp?"

"No. I had to. I wanted to and didn't want to at the same time, but...I'm glad he's dead. It's not that."

"Your boss told me about what you asked him out there. About why your dad didn't love you."

"I was a bit punch drunk. I wasn't thinking straight."

"...but you were being honest. Have you ever asked that question before, Tim?"

"Yeah."

"Who did you ask?"

"My father. He beat the crap out of me." Tim smiled wanly. "...but he didn't answer."

"Anyone else?"

"No." Tim looked at Nick and tried to smile. "Do you remember that day that you gave me your sweater?"

"Of course."

"I wanted you to be my father."

Nick smiled. "I'm flattered, Tim. Really. I wouldn't have been a good father, though. Is that what's wrong? Not having a father?"

Tim shook his head. "No! It's not that!"

"Then, what is it, Tim?" Nick asked. His voice was gentle, but it was not one that would accept any more hedging. "Because I don't mind telling you that you look like you did the night your father died...beaten, scared, bereft. You don't look like you did even a day later. It's like you've lost your spark."

"He sold me," Tim whispered and he closed his eyes against the memory. "My father sold me."

"_What's with the kid?"_

"_Didn't you say you were needing a replacement?"_

"Yes, Tim. You knew that before," Nick said, softly, encouraging elaboration. Gibbs had come to the door, on his way from visiting Ziva who was to be released later that day, but he stopped and didn't go inside. He just waited.

"I wanted to love my father, like I love Mom. If there had been...even _one_ act that had showed me he loved me, somewhere deep inside...just one...that's all. I would have loved him just for that...but he never did."

"_Isn't this your kid?"_

"_He can be yours for the right price."_

"It's okay that you didn't love him, Tim."

"Sharp...hated me so much that he waited for twenty years to try and kill me. He wanted to make me suffer for it. That's what my dad was doing to me. That's what he wanted to have happen to me. Why?"

"_What's the right price?"_

"_As much as you're willing to pay for a healthy boy, already submissive. Yours to own."_

"You know what, Tim? I'm glad I can't tell you."

Tim laughed a little but he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. "I was his _son_! His own flesh and blood...and all I was to him was another source of income. He didn't care...not one bit what happened."

Nick reached out and pulled Tim's hands down. "It's true. He didn't care. Everyone needs a father, Tim...physically-speaking, but you didn't have a real father...not until..."

"Until what?"

"Not until you got away from him. You found other people to take his place...even me, for whatever reason. That matters. Tim, why did this come up now? Why is affecting you now when it didn't before?"

"I don't know," Tim confessed. "All I know is that I was lying on the bank of the Potomac and I just wished that my father had loved me...even if just enough to keep me from Sharp. I didn't want to have to face him, but there was no other option."

"You want someone to blame."

Tim shrugged and wrapped his arms around himself. "I've only had one goal in my life, Nick...to help people. It's simplistic perhaps, but that's what I've wanted my whole life. That night...instead of helping, my sister got kidnaped, my mother was temporarily uprooted from her life...and I had to kill a man in order to save my own life. What if my father hadn't sold me that night? What if he had just done his usual drug deal and _not_ decided that his son deserved to be sold into slavery?"

Nick perched on the edge of the bed. "You might be dead now, Tim."

Tim looked up.

"You might be happier. You might be more miserable. Who knows what would have happened? I certainly don't. Do you know how many times I wished that I had followed you home the day I gave you that stupid sweater? It would have been easy to do. If I had, we would have known that your father had a family. We would have known that there were others and we would have been able to take better precautions."

"It's not your fault, Nick."

"I know."

Tim gave a half-smile. "I always wanted to be like you, Nick. You saved me."

Nick leaned over and shook Tim gently. "Tim, haven't you figured out yet that you can't be like me? ...or like anyone else. You can only be like you...and I don't see anything wrong with that. Do you?"

"I guess I've been wondering if I'm me or someone made up. I couldn't answer a polygraph question asking me my name. I feel like I've been pretending."

"Have you? I mean, _really_. Have you been pretending to be someone you're not? I'm not talking about names. I'm talking about _you_. Are you...you?"

"...I don't know. Am I?" Tim shook his head. "Am I me...or am I my father...or you...or...or..."

"Tim, you can't be anyone but yourself. So...what is it that makes you who you are? Is it this?" He gestured at the hospital room. "Is it the first years of your life? Or is it this?" He pointed to Tim's chest. "I can tell you what I think, but that won't help. You have to know."

"I've always been so afraid that I would do something that would make me into him, that I would _feel_ some emotion that would turn me into the kind of person my father was."

"I don't know how many times we can say it, Tim. You're not your father...if only because you don't _want_ to be."

Tim nodded, but he looked away. It was his greatest fear, more than heights, boats, or maggots: that he would become a monster.

Nick smiled, remembering the last time he had seen Tim in a hospital bed...small, scrawny...young. "You are who you are, Tim. Whether your name is Timothy McGee or Tobias McGregor, you are who you are. And you know that already. Just believe it. I have to go, but I'll be around...if you'd like."

"I would. Thanks, Nick."

"My pleasure." Nick stood, grinned and ruffled Tim's hair.

Tim chuckled in response and smiled as he left, but his smile became wistful.

"McGee, where's Sarah?" Gibbs asked, scooting into the room.

"Hey, Boss. Picking up my mom. She wasn't going to wait another day. They should be here soon. I guess if you stick around, you'll get to meet her."

"I'd like that."

"Why did you call Nick, Boss?"

"Because he understands you. He already knows your history...and he knows you, more than anyone at NCIS does."

Tim flushed. "It had to be that way, Boss. No one was supposed to know. Not ever."

"I know, McGee. I know how Witness Protection works."

"I hated lying."

"I can tell."

"Ziva's okay?"

"Even more than the last ten times you asked," Gibbs answered.

Tim smiled. "Good."

"What do you want now, McGee?"

"What?"

"What do you want?"

The question was so unexpected coming from Gibbs, that Tim couldn't answer.

"You need to know it. When you figure it out, let _me_ know." Then, he left before Tim could say anything at all.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Mom, you're hurting me," Tim whispered as Joan hugged him tightly.

"I'm sorry, Tim." She pulled back and wiped away the tears that had come to her eyes. "I'm just so glad that you're okay."

"Sharp's dead, Mom."

"I know. The Marshals told me. Tim...if you ever..." She couldn't finish.

"Mom, it was what I had to do."

"No, Tim. You didn't have to," Sarah said. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did, Sarah. I couldn't let it go on. There was only one way for that to end...and now it's over."

"Is it, Tim? Is it really?" Joan asked.

"Yes. It's over," he said firmly.

Joan hugged him again and pulled Sarah in as well, holding her family close. She had come so close to losing them.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_He's a waste. A waste of time, money, space...just like you. Your son is worthless!"_

Tim sat alone in the darkness.

"_You can't do nothing. Worthless."_

Only his memories for company.

"_You think? You think? You're too stupid to live, let alone think."_

His father was always in his thoughts, even when he had buried him deep. He was always there.

"_You don't deserve any better."_

His apartment seemed strange to him...foreign.

"_You want to know why? You questioning me?"_

In moments, it was empty. It wasn't where he needed to be.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim pounded on the front door. It was late, but for once, he wasn't worried about that. The lights were off. Then, the door creaked open.

"McGee, what are you doing here?" Gibbs asked. He didn't look sleepy. He looked surprised.

"I need to...talk, Boss."

Gibbs shrugged and stood aside. "Do mind if I work while you talk?"

"No."

"Then, come on down."

Tim followed Gibbs down to the basement. Gibbs picked up his sander and smoothed down a plank.

"My father hated everything about me. In a way, it was a good thing because I couldn't see anything good about him either. He would..." Tim talked, opening up about his past in a way he'd never been able to before. The words themselves weren't particularly important, but Gibbs listened. He listened because he knew Tim needed someone to listen...and he wanted to understand his agent. Tim talked long into the night...probably more than he'd ever spoken at one time in his entire life. When he finished, he stopped, stood up and began to leave. Gibbs just kept working. When Tim reached the top of the stairs he turned back.

"Thanks, Boss."

"Anytime, McGee."

Then, Tim left.


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue: Free**

Tim woke up the next morning and felt...changed. He had requested a few extra days to think...and now he had thought. Tim felt like he had when he had graduated from high school. His whole life was in front of him, waiting to be seized. He luxuriated in the feeling for a few seconds before getting up and heading into the bathroom.

As he got ready for the day, he remembered how he had felt about joining NCIS. Yes, it had been Nick's suggestion, but it was more than that. It was who he was. It was what he wanted and more than that, it was what he already had. He remembered how excited he had been when he had been assigned to Norfolk, how wonderful it had been to finally be promoted to full time field agent. Sure, he wasn't perfect. He still messed up...but that was okay. He had more to learn.

Tim grinned as he thought about it...more to learn, more to know, more to experience. There was always more. He wasn't giving up anything of himself by being an agent. He was _gaining_. With that thought, he finished his coffee and walked out the door.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The elevator doors opened and Tim remembered again how he felt his first time walking into NCIS Headquarters. _This is where I belong._ He walked to his desk and bent over, feeling a slight twinge in his chest, but not much.

"McGee!" A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up into an upright position. "You're back!"

"You sound shocked, Tony," Tim said, grinning, mentally comparing this welcome to his first one at Tony's hands.

"No! I was just trying to make you hit your head on your desk."

"Right. Ziva back in the field yet?"

"I think today is the day...I _hope_ today is the day. She's driving me up the wall."

The elevator doors opened and Ziva came out almost dancing. "I've been cleared! I've been cleared!"

"Congratulations, Ziva," Tim said. "I still have at least another week."

"McGee!"

"Yes...I do believe that's still my legal name."

She grinned. "Welcome back!"

"Thanks."

"McGee, Abby needs you downstairs," Gibbs said. "We've got a dead marine in Alexandria. Let's roll."

There was a chorus of "Yes, Boss!" all around and everyone scattered. Just before Tim walked to take the elevator down to Abby, Gibbs stopped him. He didn't ask a question. He just raised his eyebrows.

Tim smiled and nodded.

Gibbs turned and stalked to the other elevator, nearly leaving Tony and Ziva behind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Abby?" The lab appeared to be dark. He was sure she was there. "Abby?"

Tim walked further in. He couldn't see anyone. He looked into her office and he saw Abby sitting at her desk with aromatherapy candles burning around her. Abby's eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply. Tim couldn't help but smile, remembering his own aromatherapy. It was nice to know that Abby occasionally followed her own advice. He walked to the doorway.

"Abby?" he said quietly.

"Come...sit..." Abby didn't open her eyes. She just pointed to the vacant chair beside her. Tim obediently sat beside her. "Breathe deeply..."

"Gibbs said that you needed me."

"Shh! Breathe!" Abby ordered imperiously.

Tim rolled his eyes good-naturedly and followed her instructions...or orders. They breathed together for a few minutes and Tim closed his eyes. Thus, he was taken completely by surprise when Abby hugged him tightly.

"Abby!"

"You're back!"

"You knew that already. I told you I would be here today," Tim managed to say.

"No, Tim..._you_ are back." She tightened her grip.

"Abby...breathing?"

"Hug me, Tim!"

"Loosen your grip and I will," Tim said, smiling.

Abby allowed him the luxury of breathing and Tim put his arms around her.

"I'm so glad you're back. Are you sure this is where you want to be?"

"I've never been more sure, Abbs."

"You know what you want?"

"Yes. I want to help." Tim let her go and stood. "Gibbs said you needed my help."

Abby smiled and nodded. "I do." She led him out of her office to the computers.

"Where do you want to start?" Tim asked.

**FINIS!**


End file.
